


Our Ghosts Never Die

by Amelia041223



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Asha is awesome, Defendant sister, Dinners are awkward, Dragons, Gen, Ghosts, Guilt, Kicking sandsnake ass (which is not hard to do), Leave the direwolves alone, Past Rape/Non-con, Past abuse/torture, Poor Theon, Sibling hugs, Some closure, Voyages, battles, her name is Asha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lord Commander won, him being the illegitimate child of Lord Eddard Stark, and he and the eldest daughter of Stark hold the seat of Winterfell. Ramsay Bolton is dead-'</p><p>A crash sounded, and Tyrion whipped around to see Theon staring, his face pale as a sheet, at his cup he had knocked over. Wine ran in dark red rivers along the table, and he began to tremble violently.</p><p>Or, Theon gets some closure from Ramsay, with some help from his sis.</p><p>I need to add this to my summary, for what was originally to be a one off fic has turned into a multi chapter.<br/>Following Theon and Tyrion storyline from end of Season 6 with mild changes and surprises, lots of reunions, struck alliances, and voyages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My sister](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+sister).



> I know the season 6 finale was a while ago, but I didn't get around to writing this until now, and I needed this. I was pretty pissed off when they went sailing away without Theon getting any closure or even finding out about Ramsay's death.
> 
> This is so far a one off fic, and the first part is through a Tyrion POV, which later turns into a Theon POV, you'll probably recognize the switch.
> 
> This takes place somewhere after the battle of the bastards, but before the Cersei explosion, a few days after the arrival of the Greyjoys in Meereen.
> 
> Also, I'm calling "Yara" Asha, okay? There's no other way around it.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Tyrion sat on the queen's right side at the table, his boots dangling helplessly, and a goblet of wine in his hand. Across from him, the two Greyjoys sat side by side, although, the woman, Asha, sat next to the queen.

It had been Daenerys Targaryen's idea they should all dine together, as they were allies, and what better way to begin trust than with a shared meal? Tyrion bit his lip as thoughts of the Red Wedding entered his mind. There were far better ways, he concluded, taking a lengthy sip from his cup. Ways that did not involve him being seated at the same table as the Greyjoy boy, he wagered.

He was unaturally quiet, so unlike the smirking, japing arse he met in Winterfell. Now, he only appeared sullen, and forlorn,his head hunched over his plate, which did not contain much. He wasn't eating, Tyrion noticed, and, out of his armour, it was particularly evident how gaunt and thin the boy was. Tyrion reached for his own plate, which held a crisp carving of a leg of lamb coated in an exotic, unidentifiable sauce, with slices of mango and other mysterious culinary items on the side. He kept them well seperate.

After a while of dining in tense silence, Tyrion took a break from his lamb, raising his cup to his lips.

'Why aren't you eating, has something stolen your stomach, boy?' He asked, setting it down, feeling the acrid, though sweet taste of the wine on his tongue. The Greyjoy, Theon he remembered, looked up.

'Forgive me, my lord, I'm not hungry,' he said quietly, curteously. Tyrion shrugged.

'Well, you are missing out, this Meereen cuisine is particularly exquisite,' he said, taking up his knife and fork once more. The queen smiled politely, and looked at the Greyjoy in curiosity.

'Yes, why aren't you eating?' She said, brow furrowed, 'is there something wrong with the dish? Missandei, why don't you get him something else,' she motioned for the translator.

'No!' He said, his eyes widened, then he quickly recomposed himself, 'no,' he repeated in calmer tones, 'no, no that's not necessary, thank you, but I...' He bit his lip, and lowered his gaze. His sister, Asha, briefly glanced at him, and then at the queen.

'My brother is very thankful for the food, but he does not feel he can eat right now,' she said, pouring him a small glass of wine.

'Drink,' she commanded softly, pushing over the cup. Theon hesitated for a moment, then took a small sip, instantly placing the goblet on the table once more. Asha didn't comment.

'How is it on the Iron Islands,' Daenerys asked, no doubt to lighten the mood, and ease the palpable tension. Tyrion muttered indiscreetly into his cup, causing the queen to send him a look.

Asha smiled, pretending not to have noticed the brief exchange.

'It is bleak, and dreary, but it is home, and the waves crashing against the towers at night are the mating calls of the krakens,' she replied, grinning at the last bit. Her brother said nothing, but merely continued to stare intently at his plate. Tyrion rose his brow at the answer.

'Really?' He said, 'then I suppose it is only fitting that the harsh wind blowing through Casterly Rocke is the roar of the lonely lion, and the sand swirling through Meereen be the gentle inquiries of the fearsome dragon,' he smiled mockingly, 'sadly I think it will go unanswered, I believe all the mother's babes are male,' he lifted his cup ceremoniously to Daenerys, who stared at him, smiling faintly.

'I'm sure she only meant to sound intriguing,' she said lightly, taking a sip of her wine.

A respectful silence fell once more, and Tyrion noticed as Asha prodded her brother, muttering something in his ear. He looked at her for a moment, nodded, then gently picked up a fork from the table, using it to spear the smallest piece of egg on the end, which he then proceeded to chew carefully, and swallow, washing it down with a sip of wine. Asha nodded approvingly.

'You need to eat, little brother,' she said softly, 'you need to be Theon, right?' Tyrion frowned. That was certainly odd, he thought, why in the seven hells would he need to be reminded? Tyrion shook his head, and drowned his thoughts in wine. He found he did not much care.

Over the course of the meal, Theon gradually ate the remainder of the egg he had started, and even touched a sliver of mango. He never finished the wine. Tyrion gazed forlornly at his own empty plate, but sighed in satisfaction, wiping his mouth with a cloth. 

'I thought the lamb was excellent,' he said, mainly to break the silence, 'although I was a bit suspicious about the rest of the meal,' he admitted. Daenerys smiled, and set her cutlery down delicately on the table.

'I agree,' she said, 'Missandei, give my compliments to whoever prepared the dish.' The girl nodded, and disappeared through the double doors. She returned a moment later with a letter clutched in her hand, and a concerned expression. She placed it in the queen's hands, who nodded, and broke the seal, carefully unfurling the message. The seal had been blank, Tyrion noticed.

'It's from Lord Varys,' she told him discreetly, then quickly read the letter, her eyes widening as she did.

'What does it say your grace?' He inquired quickly. Asha Greyjoy was staring intently.

'Now that we're such good friends, why don't you share the information with us?' She said easily, curiosity ripe in her voice. Tyrion was tempted to refuse her, but the queen deftly nodded.

'It is nothing you should not be privy to,' she admitted, glancing briefly at Tyrion. He rose his brow, but said nothing.

'There was a battle in the north for Winterfell, the seat of the Starks,' she informed them, 'apparently the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch rallied the Knights of the Vale, and a few other northern houses to fight against the Boltons and Umbers.' Tyrion had been teaching the queen about the various different houses, and their current status as far as he knew. Apparently he had missed quite a few occurences during his journey to Meereen.

'The Lord Commander won, him being the illegitimate child of Lord Eddard Stark, and he and the eldest daughter of Stark hold the seat of Winterfell. Ramsay Bolton is dead-'

A crash sounded, and Tyrion whipped around to see Theon staring, his face pale as a sheet, at his cup he had knocked over. Wine ran in dark red rivers along the table, and he began to tremble violently. 

Asha grabbed his arm, staring at her brother with an intent expression, and leaned close to him, muttering rapidly to him. He didn't seem to hear her, his eyes gazing a long way off, nearly vacant, but clouded, as though witnessing an unseen horror. 

'What's wrong?' The queen asked, confused. They did not respond, but eventually, Theon snapped from his reverie, and rose shakily to a stand.

'May I...may I be excused?' He stammered, his voice faint and completely different. He was even more bent over, his body in a position as though he would be attacked at any moment, though his eyes were what caused Tyrion to inadvertently shiver.

They were hunted, haunted, and bore an expression of complete misery and pain. He did not meet anyone's gaze, but quickly stumbled from the room as soon as the queen gave her consent of his leave. A brief silence followed his departure, in which Asha downed an entire cup of wine, wiping her mouth on her sleeve after.

'I suppose...' Tyrion was thoroughly confused at the boy's unnerving behaviour, 'he is most upset at the news. He betrayed the Starks and took their castle, and now they have it back. I don't imagine he is great friends with the Starks, especially after nearly murdering them, and burning down their castle. He must be particularly depressed-'

'Will you fucking shut up?' Asha snapped, smacking her empty cup on the table. 'He fucking loves the Starks, he fucking told me.' Tyrion laughed, shaking his head.

'Oh yes, they are great friends, what with the betrayal and all-' 

Asha rose to her feet, her chair shoved behind her rapidly in her haste. She slammed her fists on the table, and leaned towards him, an angry expression in her eyes.

'You know nothing about it, Lannister,' she said darkly. Tyrion scoffed.

'Then please, tell me!' We are all friends here, or good allies at least,' he said, gesturing vaguely. Then his tone darkened, 'tell me how the near murderer of the Stark boys who burned their family home is so apparently infatuated with their house, but yet reduced to a trembling wreck at the mention of their victory.'

Asha grit her teeth, then took her seat once more, her anger cooled.

'He wasn't upset about their victory, you prick,' she said. The queen made a little noise, and Asha looked at her briefly.

'Begging your pardon, your grace,' she muttered between clenched teeth, 'but it was the bastard of Bolton's death that unhinged him.' Tyrion's brow furrowed. She took a deep breath, and sighed.

'After he sacked Winterfell, he was taken prisonner by the bastard, and tortured mercilessly for years. I went to try and rescue him once, but he was a complete mess, yelling his name was...' she thought a moment, 'reek, I think. I think he believed it to, he was...completely mad because of that fucker. He escaped with the eldest Stark girl, the bastard's wife, and he came back home to help me win the Kingsmoot.'

She glared at Tyrion, and he lowered his gaze.

'Reek,' he couldn't help say, 'what is that, a...an unpleasant smell?' He bit his tongue at the withering glower Asha shot at him.

'He's fucking ruined because of that sadistic fucker, and completely devastated about what he did to the Starks. I had to listen to him, screaming apologies in his sleep, crying about...who the fuck was the oldest? Robb? Yeah, he kept saying he should have died with him, and everything, so I don't give a fuck about what my brother may have said to you, because you're a spoiled shit, and Theon is...not even Theon anymore,' she said the last words quietly, nearly pensively, and glanced briefly at her hands. Tyrion felt his stomach churn, and Daenerys was looking at Asha with bewilderment plain on her face.

'That still doesn't change what he did...' Tyrion murmered.

'Yeah, well I imagine you've fucked up pretty big in your life, Lannister, otherwise you wouldn't be here,' Asha said, then rose and left without asking for consent of her absence. 

'You didn't know of this?' The queen said quietly, gently sipping her wine. He shook his head, staring at the contents swirling peacefully in his own cup. 

'I knew something went down...' He replied softly. He himself had murdered his own father, but his father was not an innocent little boy...

He bit his lip, and refilled his goblet to the brim.

Still, he forced himself to admit, even Theon Greyjoy didn't deserve that, he had been just a stupid boy when he decided to betray the Starks.

_And betray them to who? His own family. He chose his blood family rather than his captures._

_Your loyalty to your captures is touching..._

Tyrion closed his eyes, and drank.

~

Theon walked to his chambers, his legs numb and shaky beneath him. His heart was racing in his chest, thumping painfully against his ribs, and his vision seemed to blur in front of him.

_Ramsay Bolton is dead...Ramsay Bolton is dead..._

Theon couldn't understand the words, they didn't make sense, they were impossible, a lie. He blinked furiously, and collapsed against the door of his chamber, flinging it open, and hurrying inside, slamming the door behind him.

_No! Master wouldn't like that!_

Theon shook his head. He was dead, he was dead, he was dead...Theon wished he could believe that, could see his rotting corpse, his horrible, pale eyes glazed over in a vacant expression. 

'You're dead!' He screamed, tears running down his cheeks, 'You're dead! I'm Theon! My name is Theon Greyjoy...' He curled onto the floor, the only place he could sleep, and shivered, clutching his head in his hands.

_He can never hurt me anymore, I'm never going back, he'll never find me..._

He muttered wildly to himself, forcing the words over and over through his head. He had to believe, it had to be true, but if it wasn't, if it was a trick, then...

_He would come for me, find me, hurt me. Good Reek, loyal Reek, Reek doesn't think Master is dead, he mustn't be, he can't be, if Reek moves on without master, then he has betrayed him, he can't do that..._

'Stop!' Theon cried, pounding his head with his fists, 'you're name is Theon! My name is Theon! He's dead, he can't find you, he can't hurt you...he's gone...'

Theon gasped and shook, wiping the tears from his eyes. He was Theon Greyjoy, he was never going to be Reek again. Ramsay was dead on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

_How could he be dead? How could he have been killed?_

Because he was just a man, Theon thought with crushing realization. He was just a man, not a Master, not a demon, or a god, simply a man.

And he was dead, like all men eventually were. Theon had been mutilated, tortured, driven mad and reduced to a slave and a creature by a man.

Theon closed his eyes, and hid his head against his knees, muttering softly.

The door opened, and Theon whipped his head up, staring around wildly, then relaxed as he saw it was only Asha.

But he was ashamed of how he looked, curled into a fetal position on the ground, his face streaked with tears. He shied away from her as she kneel beside him, and avoided her gaze. He tensed as she placed a hand on his neck, and forced his head up to face her. Her expression was hard, but also laced with a touch of...tenderness.

'Theon, are you going to be okay?' She asked quietly. 'Think very hard about your answer,' she added. Theon bit his lip, and stared at her.

'I...I wish I could have killed him myself,' he said, realizing as he did that it was the stark truth. 'Then...then he would be truly dead, I suppose. Like this, it...it just doesn't feel real. I don't think his ghost will ever stop haunting me, I don't believe he will ever leave me,' his voice choked, and he forced his eyes away. She leaned in closer, and pressed her forhead to his.

'He's dead, Theon,' she said, 'he's dead, and he is never coming back. He will never haunt you again, because you are Theon Greyjoy, you are my brother, and you are strong, and I'll be here to help you, no matter how much it pains me.'

Theon looked at her, and felt a tear run down his cheek. She wrapped her arms around his thin torso, and he clung to her, trembling.

'Now and always,' she whispered.

A sudden strength tore through him, and he felt his heart quicken. Asha pulled away, and gazed at him intently.

'Theon, will you be alright?' She said, her hand never leaving his neck.

He looked at her, and nodded.


	2. The Halls We Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion goes for a walk down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the sequel I never thought I would write. My hat is tipped to VagrantWriter who gave me the idea of this next chapter. I hope you enjoy, and please tell me how I did.
> 
> This is a Tyrion POV, by the way. If, and I say if, I decide to write a third chapter, it will definitely be a Theon POV, it's his turn.

Tyrion strolled down the various, twisting hallways of the grand pyramid of Meereen, his thoughts wandering idly as he whistled the Bear and the Maiden Fair under his breath. His hands were empty of any wine glass, which made him slightly uncomfortable, but the queen had decided he had enough to drink, and in the following days of their devised plans of attack he would be required to keep a clear head. Tyrion did not feel pleased about doing any such thing, but Daenerys had made a point of telling the servers to keep the pitchers of wine scattered throughout each rooms away from him. Tyrion had never been as sober, and it was dreadful. He couldn't sleep anymore without the drink clouding his mind, so he was forced to amble about the pyramid until his eyes drifted shut of their own accord. 

Tonight was one such night. The moon hung low over Meereen, it's soft glow piercing through Tyrion's curtains back in his room, and he eventually vacated his bed to wander, and hopefully draw exhaustion from the effort. 

He finished the song, and was about to lapse into a serenade of The Dornish Man's Wife, when a scream echoed down the corridor. Tyrion jumped in shock, and immediately hurried towards the cry, his heart hammering in his chest. If the sons of the harpy had attacked, but that was impossible, they were dead...

He ran down a corridor, and listened intently as the screaming intensified. He located a door, and stumbled through, entering a chamber. He slammed the door behind him, and found...

Theon Greyjoy was thrashing violently on the ground, his face contorted into a mask of pain and fear, his eyes closed. 

'No! Please stop, please stop! No...I'll be good, good reek, loyal reek, no, don't hurt her, please, no...' he sobbed. Tyrion knew he was asleep, and he stared in astonishment. Theon continued to scream in agony, tears running down his cheeks. 'No! Please, no, please stop, Robb, no, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...Sansa...no don't hurt her, please...' Tyrion felt his body shiver, and he rushed forward, falling to his knees, and began shaking the Greyjoy boy, slapping his face, and tugging on his clothes, anything to make him awake. 

Theon's eyes snapped open, and, upon seeing Tyrion, lunged away from him, hugging his knees to his chest. He breathed heavily, his eyes slowly calming, and he hastily swiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. He stared at Tyrion wildly, and Tyrion quickly backed away, his hands raised in surrender.

'I'm...I'm sorry,' Theon stammered, his voice trembling, though gradually strengthening. He seemed deeply ashamed, and a flush crept into his cheeks. 'What...what are you doing here, Lannister?' Tyrion bit his lip.

'It's alright,' he found himself saying as though soothing a child. 'I was walking about, and I heard you screaming, so I came in here, and woke you...' Tyrion frowned. The boy had been sleeping on the floor, his bed was clean, the sheets neatly tucked into the corners. He felt something churn in his stomach, and he softened. The boy was shivering, he realized, his gaunt frame trembling as the cold night air seeped from his window. Tyrion tore a blanket from the top of Theon's bed, and flung it at him. Theon visibly flinched, and fumbled as the fabric toppled on him, but he said nothing, only wrapped it around him.

'Thank...thank you,' he said eventually, avoiding Tyrion's gaze, staring intently at his knees. Tyrion plopped himself onto the bed, and patted the spot next to him.

'There's lots of room, you know,' he said, 'I imagine the floor is a most uncomfortable place, in my experience.' Theon stared at him, but shook his head. 

'I...I'm fine, thank you,' he replied hoarsely. Then his eyes narrowed.

'Why are you being nice to me?' he asked suspiciously. Tyrion sighed, and felt his pulse quicken. This boy, this miserable boy, had once been a smirking arse hole, a jape always on his lips, although, he hadn't been smiling the last time he had seen him at Winterfell. Now, Theon was...He remembered the words Asha Greyjoy had used, _not even Theon anymore._ Tyrion felt his chest tighten. No one deserved this, not even Theon Greyjoy. He was curled up as though he would be struck at any moment, Tyrion remembered the pain, the despair in his voice as he screamed in his sleep.

 _Sansa, and Robb, he screamed about my wife and the Stark boy._ The young wolf was dead, and his wife had been married off to a sadistic fucker who had reduced Greyjoy to the shivering wreck he was now. Gods, he had been crying about...about...

_Please don't hurt her..._

Tyrion's throat tightened, and he knew, in that moment, as he looked at the boy staring at him from the floor, his knees drawn to his chest, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a lost, pained look in his eyes, that he had been a complete prick. He swallowed. It was easier when others were being complete pricks, and he was the one to make them look like fools. He drew in a deep breath.

'I suppose, what I mean to say is...' he closed his eyes, 'I'm sorry.' He opened them, to see Greyjoy staring at him, dumbfounded. 'I didn't know what this Ramsay Bolton had done to you, and...' he grimaced at the effort, apologies had never been his strong suit, 'and you were right. It was a long time ago, a very, very long time ago, so long, in fact, that you have gone and become an entirely different person, and I have grown a beard and landed myself in Meereen,' he attempted a weak smile, 'funny how that works out, isn't it?'

Silence greeted his rambled apology, and Greyjoy averted his gaze, his expression one of confusion, and misery. Tyrion cleared his throat.

'I hear you...fled from Winterfell with the eldest Stark girl,' he said. Theon nodded silently. 'She was my wife, at one time, you know,' Tyrion went on. Yes, a reluctant bride who had mostly despised him because his family had incidentally murdered her family. Theon met his gaze then, lifting his head from the focus of his knees. Tyrion leaned towards him slightly.

'What did he do to her, Theon? What did the bastard of Bolton do to my wife?' he said slowly, darkly. Theon trembled at that, although tried to hide it, and glanced down at his hands resting over his knees. 

'He raped her...' he said quietly, the softest whisper Tyrion had ever heard from a man's lips, 'he...he raped her and...' Theon closed his eyes, as a look of pain crossed his face, 'and made me watch...' He shook his head, and forced his head down once more. Tyrion remembered Sansa on their wedding night, her pale skin shivering as she removed her dress, her hands trembling as she drank from a goblet of wine. He couldn't imagine... The boy had fucking watched. Tyrion felt scathing words rise to his throat, but he stopped as Theon began to cry, although he seemed to be ashamed, and trying to stop, pressing his hands to his face to suppress his sobs.

'I didn't do anything, I couldn't...he...oh gods...' he closed his eyes, and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. He hung his head, and hid his face from Tyrion. 

Tyrion remembered Theon Greyjoy, the boy who smirked and laughed, but he also remembered he was constantly at Robb Stark's side. Tyrion had come to think of him as the Stark's second shadow, but he also remembered his resilience, and his anger. He wouldn't take any insults lying down, cowering, he would fling them right back, albeit not as well. The Theon Tyrion had met such a long time ago had been...strong, if a bit foolish. The boy Tyrion had met would never in the seven hells have stood and watched, doing nothing, as a Stark was raped in front of him.

_Your loyalty to your captures is touching..._

Tyrion bit his lip. 

'Theon, what in the seven hells did that bastard do to you?' At this, Theon completely avoided his gaze, fumbling with his fingers, and Tyrion noticed he was missing one. It was evident the boy would never tell him, but Tyrion felt he did not want to particularly know anyway. He sighed.

'I remember my wife,' he said idly, 'Sansa was good, she did not deserve to end up with the likes of me, and certainly not the bastard, although, I suppose it is a comfort to know I was not the worst husband to her.' He peered at the Greyjoy, who didn't move.

'She was mostly displeased with me while we were married, on account of my family having murdered her own, and I don't think she particularly liked being married to a dwarf, but I suppose one does not have much say in these matters,' he sighed.

'She was strong, though, underneath her tears, she stayed strong. She's alive, she made it through my vicious family and the Boltons. I imagine nothing can touch her now.'

'She's a survivor,' Theon muttered, raising his head slightly. Tyrion nods. 'Yes, I suppose she is,' he said kindly. The boy looked so fragile, Tyrion half feared he would break. 

_He's already broken..._

Tyrion shook his head. He seemed to be mending himself, gradually, his expression hardening, strengthening. Broken things can sometimes be restored, but never the same way. There are always cracks, and pieces missing, and it is never as strong as before. Then he remembered the popular Ironborn saying.

_What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger._

Tyrion chuckled to himself. He very much hoped not, or his father would be the most immediate threat in his life. 

'Sansa, she...' Theon stammered, his voice louder, though, stronger, 'no matter what the...what  _he_ did to her, she never gave up on escaping, never gave in.' Tyrion detected a hind of pride in the Greyjoy's voice, and he smiled slightly. Theon looked at him then, his eyes gaining light from their cloud of misery.

'She helped me,' he said, 'she helped me remember my name, when I had forgotten it...' Tyrion's brow furrowed. 'Or, I had never forgotten it, I forgot who I was, who I had been, and she helped me, she...she didn't hate me...she forgave me...' his voice choked at the end, 'I can never be forgiven, never, I would never ask for it, but, she gave it to me...' he stared at the floor, tracing the flagstone with his finger. Tyrion swallowed.

'Sansa...' he said, reminiscing, 'one day, when we were walking through the garden, some men laughed at me, and she suggested, as an act of revenge, to stuff their mattresses with dung.' He chuckled to himself, and smiled when he saw Theon look up. 

'I...' Theon cleared his throat, 'I remember...' a slow smile crept into his face, and Tyrion felt himself stare. It had to be the first time he had seen the boy smile since Winterfell. It wasn't nearly as large, or confident, merely a ghost on his lips, but it was there. 'Arya did that to her a lot, and she would force Robb to search her room for the smell, but he would pretend to never know where it was coming from. We laughed about it afterwards, and Sansa was livid...' 

Tyrion grinned. He didn't believe he would ever become friends with the Greyjoy, but they did not have to be enemies, he admitted grudgingly. The boy had suffered enough without his added insults, although it would be painful to dispense with them, Tyrion conceded. 

Tyrion stayed in his room for the rest of the night, neither of them seemed prepared to return to their beds, or, in Theon's case, the floor.

They spoke for hours about the girl who had entered their lives, to break and mend. They both smiled at the memories, and even laughed.

_We can agree upon that, at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and feel free to make prompts for what future chapters should be, if I get around to writing them. Thanks for your support in the previous chapter!


	3. Leaving for the Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly discussion and thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me so long, but here is finally another chapter. I have decided to have a plot, and I am exceptionally nervous about it, and it is nothing original or big, just ambling along, really, with loads of reunions and stuff. Please tell me if you like where the story is going, and perhaps what you would like to see from this fic. 
> 
> Also, none of my work is beta'd, so please expect errors.
> 
> This is a Theon POV chapter.
> 
> By the way, I don't think Theon and Tyrion can ever be friends.
> 
> This takes place after Dany dumps Daario and hands Tyrion the honorary Hand badge.

Theon carefully dragged his trousers to his thin waist. They set sail that very afternoon to Westeros, and Theon was unsure of how to feel. He was nervous, and troubled, unsure of the journey, and certainly the outcome. They were sailing to war, and he did not believe he would survive it. This thought did not bother him as much, as he was not afraid to die any longer, in fact he welcomed it, a rest from the torment his life had become, but he knew he would not dine in the Drowned God's watery halls, he would suffer for his sins, but what could they do that Ramsay had not already done? He reached for a shirt lying across his bed. He paused in the action to swiftly gaze over his torso, and felt sick at the sight. His chest was a mess of mottled scars, his skin stretched, or growing in twisted clumps, thin red lines racing across his body. His arms were the same, and whip marks, he knew, decorated his back. A hateful cross was branded in the hollow of his stomach, directly beneath his ribs, and he shuddered at the thought of the flaying knife scraping into his body, its wicked, curved blade splitting the skin. Theon shivered uncontrollably, and nearly dropped his shirt. Then he heard a small cough behind him.

Theon whipped around, panicstricken, his heart flying into his mouth, and he instinctively pressed his shirt to his chest, wincing at the burning flare from the tender skin. His eyes widened when his gaze landed on Tyrion Lannister standing in the doorway, a peculiar expression on his face. Theon swallowed. How long had he been standing there? He was fiercely aware of how exposed he was, and the scars on his arms were evident. Shame washed over him, and he shrank into the wall, wishing he could hide. 

'Lannister, how-how long have I kept you waiting there?' Theon stammered, willing the man to leave. Tyrion seemed to sense his distress, and backed away slightly, his hands held in surrender. His eyes seemed troubled, however, and he never met Theon's gaze, but lingered on his savaged skin. 

'Oh, don't worry, not long, in fact, I have just arrived,' said Tyrion idly, forcing his eyes up to meet Theon's. Intensely aware of his appearance, Theon aimed to straighten himself, and tried to gain a more confident stance, but he remembered the previous night. Lannister had rushed into his room, and woken him from a hideous nightmare. He had apologized, and they spent the night reminiscing, and talking. It had been the most civil conversation either had ever shared, and Theon couldn't help but feel a strange bond had passed between them. Lannister had not insulted him in an alarmingly large space of time. 

'I came to alert you of the conference we are sitting in the council chamber. Your sister wishes you be present,' Tyrion said courteously. Theon nodded.

'Thank you, I shall be with you in a moment,' he replied, pleading for him to leave. Lannister didn't move. Theon took a chance, and, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath, he lifted his shirt above his head, and slipped easily into it. Nothing ever fit him anymore, it was always much too large. He was aware of how sharply his ribs jutted out, and how Tyrion continued to stare at him. Theon forced his heart to subside, and he gingerly took a step forward from the wall. Tyrion merely waited patiently as Theon dropped on the edge of his bed, and forced his boots over his mangled toes. Theon sorely wished him to leave, but he never did. Eventually, Theon rose to a shaky stand, and, keeping his eyes firmly rested on the floor, moved towards Lannister to leave. 

'Greyjoy...' Theon looked up unsteadily to meet Tyrion's somber gaze. He felt his stomach churn, and he folded his arms protectively over his chest. Tyrion licked his lips, and stared meaningfully into Theon's eyes. 

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, though clearly, his gaze serious. Theon stared at him uncertainly, and he saw, was it pity, or sadness creep into his expression, clouding his eyes. Theon did not know how to respond, and stayed silent. Tyrion abruptly turned away, beckoning him to follow.

'Come, we must not keep the Queen waiting, or your sister for that matter, she seems the type to only tolerate her own tardiness,' he called over his shoulder, his demeanour instantly changed to its usual dry humour. Theon followed hesitantly, his stride broken constantly by a slight limp in his left foot. 

 _He saw me, he saw what the master-Ramsay,_ he forced the name through his thoughts,  _did to me._ Theon felt ashamed, exposed. Not even his sister had seen his scars, although, she had told him of the box Ramsay had sent. He did not wish to think about it.

They entered the council chamber, and Tyrion immediately dove for the pitcher of wine at the Queen's side. She stopped him with a slender hand on the rim. 

'Your grace, please, we have finished the plans, surely I should be allowed just one drink,' he pleaded, his hands still resting on the handle. She contemplated for a brief moment, but reluctantly removed her hand.

'As you wish, but we sail today. I will not have my Hand drunk and disorderly as I set foot on Westeros to conquer the Iron Throne,' she said, gazing disapprovingly as Tyrion grinned, and filled his cup to the brim with the rich, red liquid. Theon's brow furrowed. Hand? Then he noticed the silver badge pinned proudly to Tyrion's doublet, and his thoughts briefly flashed to Eddard Stark. The beheaded Hand of the King, traitor to the crown. He remembered the sorrow that gripped his heart when he had learned of the deed. He remembered the devastated look on Robb's face when he learned of the death of his father.

_The death of Lord Eddard pained me more than that of my own father_

He tore his gaze from the pin, and quickly took a seat at the round table next to Asha. She peered at his expression with a look of concern, and pushed her chair closer. 

'You alright, baby brother?' she said quietly, frowning. Theon hastily nodded, and stared resolutely at the table. Asha seemed to sense his discomfort, and reluctantly drew away.

'I will try not to drink the entire flagon at once, my Queen,' said Tyrion graciously, taking a seat between her and the solemn Unsullied soldier, Grey Worm, Theon vaguely remembered. The translator, Missandei was at his side, on Theon's left, while the Queen sat regally on Asha's right. 

'I believe this is our last council meeting before we sail to Westeros,' Danaerys announced, although her tone suggested she was still trying to make sense of the words herself. 'I trust you all know of the strategy, and Lord Varys has informed me of our alliance with the Martells of Sunspear, and the Tyrells of Highgarden,' she said.

'I am not surprised,' said Asha smoothly, 'didn't the Lannister Queen extinguish the Tyrell line, but for an old woman?' she glanced pointedly at Tyrion, who promptly took a large swig of wine. 

'Yes, my sister is regrettably mad, and my last nephew has leapt from the Red Keep,' said Tyrion sadly, 'he was a good boy, a gentle boy, but I'm afraid my sister will tear the land apart before we set foot on the shore.' Silence accompanied this statement, and Theon lowered his gaze. He remembered the boy king and the vicious queen when they came to Winterfell all those treacherous years ago. He did not particularly know either, but he knew Tommen to be a soft little boy, and his mother to be extremely beautiful, but her expression was usually one of distaste for the northern castle, as though she was courting herself among vermin. Theon remembered how he had japed to Robb about her, and he had laughed. How foolish, how terribly foolish boys were...he had been...

To remember Robb's laughter, the soft twinkling in his bright blue eyes, the smile dancing across his lips, pained Theon more than he could say. It hurt as much as the kiss of Ramsay's knife, it hurt more than a thousand lashings.

But he never wanted to forget it. He clung to the memory, desperate to never let it drift away to be lost forever.

'Theon!'

Panic tore through Theon, and he jerked his head up, his eyes widened in alarm, his heart palpitating fiercely in his chest. The entire table was staring at him. He realized it was Asha who had spoken, her hand was resting on his forearm, and she was gazing at him intently, her expression one of concern and slight annoyance.

'Theon, are you alright? You were muttering,' she said quietly, then, after a slight pause, 'and you were clutching your head, what's going on?' Theon felt dread mount in his stomach, and he glanced down at his fingers, shame washing over him. How could she ever rely on him? How could he ever do anything? How could he be of use in this expedition to Westeros, the conquering of the Iron Throne, and the retrieval of their land? He was an embarrassment to her, broken, and useless. She believed he could change, could improve and perhaps move past what Ramsay had done to him, and the fact she thought this meant everything to Theon, but he did not believe it himself. He wished they would stop staring.

'Greyjoy, are you alright?' Tyrion asked meaningfully, his gaze serious as he leaned forward slightly. Daenerys regarded him with slight surprise, as did Asha.

'Since when did you care about my brother, Lannister?' Asha said, curiosity and suspicion on the edge of her voice. Tyrion quickly composed himself, and drew back, lifting his goblet of wine to his lips.

'Why does it matter if I choose to care? I can do what I like, can't I? And anyway, I don't, I was merely ascertaining if he is fit for this journey,' he muttered into his glass, quickly taking a sip. The queen stared at him.

'Are you feeling alright yourself? I do believe you have had quite enough,' she said, swiftly removing the wine pitcher out of reach of Tyrion's grasp. His hand flailed helplessly for it, but he soon gave up, and grumbled into his cup.

'I am still sober, therefore it has most certainly not been enough,' he said unhappily.

'Shut up, Lannister,' Asha said curtly, and she turned back towards Theon. 'Is there something wrong? He hasn't glared or insulted you for the entire space of this council meeting,' she said quietly. Theon avoided her gaze. He couldn't stand the attention of the table burning into him, and the Unsullied soldier and the translator seemed to be continuously staring at him with slight frowns. He vaguely wondered if Tyrion had filled them in on his unpleasant crimes. He involuntarily shuddered, and aimed to alter the subject.

'This is a council meeting, isn't it?' he said cautiously, 'aren't we therefore present to discuss something of importance?' The queen nodded, and placed her hands on the table.

'You are quite right,' she said, 'although...' she bit her lip, 'this...I have been waiting to sail to Westeros for...ever since I can remember, ever since Viserys set out to do the same, and...' she hesitated and gazed at each of them in turn, 'this was more of a meeting for me to...prepare myself, I suppose, really feel it is real, this is properly happening, and also,' she managed a small smile, 'I did want to clarify strategy and other things. I also wanted to thank you all for supporting me, and making this possible,' she looked down at her hands, and Theon felt himself staring intently. He quickly averted his gaze, but couldn't help think about if Asha had won the Kingsmoot after all, if their murderous uncle had never turned up. They would have never sailed to Meereen, and forged an alliance with the dragon queen. If they had stayed on Pyke, would she still have been able to sail to Westeros? Or perhaps Pyke would have also suffered from her war and conquest, but Queen Cersei did not seem to be a particularly wise choice for the Throne in any case.

He was nervous for this voyage, for this war, and he was unsure if he would survive it, but he knew he was never going to let his sister die while he still lived, he would never let his pitiful existence outlive her, not if he could help it. He would try, sorely try, he knew, to ensure his sister's safety at his own expense. He knew a part of him did not want to survive the coming war, was hoping for an end, but that was conceited, that was horrible. Why should he get a say in his demise? Why should he get a rest when he did not deserve it? He did not deserve death or life, and he believed he had landed somewhere in between, a mere shadow of his former self. How could he amount to anything? On the ships he would gaze longingly at the able bodied men clambering easily about the deck, their muscles straining as they performed their duties. He especially envied the young ones, their eyes shining with ignorance and mirth. There was a time when he had been as such, but now it only seemed as a dream, a distant ghost too far to reach.

He knew he deserved worse than death, and he welcomed his demise, could only hope for it, but he also knew if he was still alive, it was only because the gods were not finished with him yet. How else could it be so? But as long as he was still breathing, he wanted to try, to begin anew, to perhaps attempt to atone. He knew redemption was out of his reach, there was nothing he could do to make amends for everything he had done, but he was determined to try.

He merely watched, and listened intently as the discussion wore on at the table. Plans and strategy were discussed, japes were exchanged, cutting remarks were passed between Asha and Tyrion with great vigour, and slight enjoyment, and Theon sat silently, listening. A part of him didn't want it to end, wished for the moment to prolong and stretch to the edge of time. It was a moment in which he was not in particular pain, no one had great, cunning, or sadistic plans for his discomfort, and Asha was smiling. Laughter echoed throughout the chamber, and it was the sweetest sound Theon knew to exist.

He smiled, a shadow on his lips, and listened.

~

The wind whipped fiercely at Theon's face, and he hesitantly, cautiously extended a hand.

'May you have a pleasant voyage, Greyjoy,' Tyrion said pleasantly, grasping his hand, and shaking it firmly. Theon nodded dumbly. He still felt wary about the Lannister, and he did not know what the man thought of him. Perhaps conflicting opinions. He hastily withdrew, reminding himself no one would ever waste time pondering about him. He wasn't worth anything, and he knew he deserved nothing more than contempt. He nodded to the Lannister, and Tyrion turned away, grinning slightly, though his expression towards Theon had not been unkind, which was a little shocking for him. Beside him, Asha shook hands with the dragon queen. They smiled at one another, and gently withdrew. Theon would never have even presumed to extend his hand, but Daenerys proffered her own, a small, encouraging grin playing on her lips at Theon's apprehensive and bewildered expression.

'It's just a hand,' she said happily, 'you can take it.' Theon haltingly accepted it, but was intensely aware of how the finger of his glove on his small finger flopped empty against her palm. She seemed not to notice, however, or perhaps chose to ignore it, and smiled kindly. It was something unusual for Theon, and he quickly let go in shock. She could not...why should she smile at him? Why should she be...nice to him? He did not deserve it...

His cheeks inadvertently flushed, and he quickly escaped up the gangway, Asha in tow.

'What's the matter, little brother?' she asked, smirking, 'nervous to hold a lady's hand?' Theon backed away from her, averting his eyes. She advanced, all the more concerned and intrigued by his expression.

'Tell me,' she added firmly, her tone darkening, her smile disappearing. Theon bit his lip.

'I...I don't deserve-' he stammered.

'Theon!' she snapped, causing a few heads to turn. Theon shrank from her furious expression, and felt the eyes of the crew burning into him. She advanced quickly towards him, her hand raised...Theon instinctively flinched, and crouched for a blow, but, to his surprise, she merely placed her hand on his shoulder. 

'Shut up, alright?' she said, her tone softer, her eyes boring meaningfully into his, 'I don't want to hear about what you do or don't deserve, what you think you do. You're Theon, okay? You're my little brother, and you have been to hell and back. You don't deserve any more pain, any more suffering, so please, help me drag yourself out of your cloud of misery and self loathing.' She let go, and Theon lowered his gaze. 'Be Theon, alright? Just be him. Even the cocky prick who came back to Pyke after nine years was better than this.' She left him standing at the railing to ponder her words, and Theon found himself floundering at the meaning. Why did she think he didn't deserve misery? Why did she believe in him? How could he be 'Theon' when he hardly remembered who he was?

Theon walked slowly to the prow of the ship and gazed over the horizon, his nerves fluttering at the clouded future. Then he felt a shadow drift over him. He glanced up, and gasped, stumbling backwards, his hands reaching for the railing for support.

Theon found himself gazing upwards at the shimmering bodies of three large dragons.

Their wings grazed the surface of the sea, the sun shining brightly off their scales, and Theon continued to stare at them.

He had seen dragons, he thought. Real, fire breathing dragons, the stories from Old Nan's tales. He leaned into the caress of the wind, and gazed at the beasts until his eyes watered from salt in the air.

Then he felt a slow grin spread across his face. For the first time in his life he could remember, he didn't want to be anyone else.

He wanted to be Theon, the one who gazed at these magnificent creatures gliding above the waves.

For the first time in a long while, he was certain of who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This will be a decidedly long fic, so please hang in there. Please tell me if you are okay with a potential Theon/Sansa shipping, or possible Jon/Dany thing, although I am less sure on that one. I think Theon/Sansa would be interesting with Tyrion being present and everything. Please tell me if you are okay with the direction this fic is going, and thank you all for pushing me to keep going!


	4. The Iron Fleet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title speaks for itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter spewed out. I was extremely nervous about this change of events in the chapter, but I thought it would be nice to add a little spice (and plot) to the story.   
> Varys, the Martells and the Tyrells have not added their forces quite yet, as I thought it would be nice for them to be picked up in a future chapter when they reach Dorne (they could all get off their ships and kick some sandsnake ass, which wouldn't be hard to do)  
> Another thing, I can't insult my keyboard with the show adaptation of Euron, I can't, sorry. I will be changing his personality from the books, but everything else will stay the same. I will explain his personality a bit in notes in the next chapter for when he pops up for those of you who have not read the books (but how could you not have? Stop reading fan fiction and go read the real thing!). I have also, for my own personal amusement and to add something to the story, incorporated the dragon horn from the books (I'm not going with any mystery, it works.) Basically, Euron brought it back from Valyria or some creepy place in Essos. They say if you blow it, you die, but its function is to control dragons. I'm going to make this simple and say you don't die.
> 
> This is a Tyrion POV.  
> I hope you enjoy this, and thanks for reading!

Tyrion gazed over the horizon, his small form pressed against the prow of the ship, the elegant, gold dragon statue twisting out before him. The wind gently ruffled his hair, and he smiled wanly as he watched the three dragons swirling and drifting eloquently over the rippling waves, the sun shining brightly off their sleek scales.

They had been sailing for two weeks. Tyrion already knew from his last experience he was most definitely not fond of this mode of travel, but at least, he conceded, he was not making this journey while in a box. Dorne would be their first destination to pick up a few allies, and then it would be on the the Capital, King's Landing. He left a fugitive, wanted for a crime he did not commit, but now, he admitted, he was wanted for two crimes he most surely was guilty of. He imagined the look on his dear sister's face when she laid eyes on him for the first time as the conquest of Queen Danaerys forced her from her comfortable perch on the Iron Throne. As she saw the badge gleaming on his doublet, he imagined she would not be particularly pleased. 

His thoughts wandered to the expression on Jaime's face. Tyrion's stomach unexpectedly sank with dread, and the smile drifted from his face. Jaime had let him escape to murder their father, and Shae. He didn't want to think about Jaime's face, he didn't want to see the anger, the hatred that would surely be placed there, frowning down at him. People were always looking down at him, and now they had a reason to that was beyond the fact he was unfortunately shorter than them. He didn't want to think about Jaime, or Cersei, and the fate waiting for them when they set foot in King's Landing. He didn't want to think about what would most surely happen to his sister, the mad Queen. Regardless of how they loathed one another, she was still his sister, and he did not believe he wanted her blood as much as she did his. He also knew she had lost Tommen, the only thing dear to her heart who was probably keeping her sane. Myrcella was still in Dorne, he thought, but she was too far away, he believed, to keep her well grounded. 

The reign of the Mad Queen Cersei had begun. Tyrion only hoped Danaery would prove to be the antithesis of her grandfather, but he knew he had seen the softer side of her heart, the innocent smile on her lips. He felt, he  _knew_ she was right for the position. He knew it each time he made her laugh, and her eyes would light up to reveal pure, twinkling stars of mirth. 

Tyrion sighed into the wind, his head lifted upwards to see above the rail, and stopped. He squinted, peering through the glare of the sun, and felt his heart flip unpleasantly into his mouth. 

Sailing towards them so amiably on the sea, was a siege of ships. Their own force was not in such abundance, he knew at a glance, for how broadly the adversary ships expanded across the horizon. Panic fluttered in the pit of his stomach, and he hurried across the deck of the ship to the calls of the alerting sailor in the crow's nest. The ship was instantly in uproar at the announcement, and Tyrion knew, even before the sailor announced it, which force was advancing towards them at such speed.

'My Queen, the Iron Fleet is upon us!' Tyrion called as he slammed his fist hurriedly on the door of her cabin located at the stern of the ship. 'Your grace-'

The door flung open and Tyrion nearly stumbled into the room. He quickly backed away, allowing the queen to vacate her cabin, a bewildered and troubled expression plain on her face. 

'The Iron Fleet? You mean the ships Euron Greyjoy means to offer me?' she said, hurrying to the prow. Tyrion followed her, struggling to keep up with her long strides. Placing her hands on the railing, she gazed at the advancing fleet.

'Their numbers are...large,' she said eventually, her brow furrowed, 'very large.' Their figures were becoming more distinct with each passing minute. 'Do they mean to attack us?' she inquired, glancing slightly worriedly at Tyrion. He shrugged.

'Perhaps they will...add to our numbers, although...' he hesitated. Theon and Asha had told them of their uncle's intentions, and he could easily believe them. The Greyjoys were not known for their pleasant personalities. 'You know what the Greyjoys said. Euron wishes to murder you as soon as he obtains the Seven Kingdoms through your marriage. I don't imagine he will easily surrender his ships without your pledge to him.'

Dany gazed at him uncertainly, her expression wavering. 

'How do you know it is true what they claim?' she said. 

'Oh, it is easily believable. The Greyjoys are renowned killers and reavers. He will stop at nothing to get what he desires, and there are not too many pleasant men in the world. I imagine Euron Greyjoy is most definitely not one of them. Do you really want to get yourself in such a predicament?' He counselled. 

'But his ships...' she gazed apprehensively at the mass surging towards them, 'his ships will be greater friends than enemies. If I refuse his demands, he will attack. We cannot afford that.' 

'Maybe not,' Tyrion admitted, 'but perhaps he could not afford as well? Once our forces are combined with the Tyrells and Martells, we will be a proper fleet set to attack Westeros. His army is not large enough to conquer the Throne on his own. He will need you, your name, your ships, and your dragons. If he attacked, he would lose all.' 

They collectively mulled over his words, and Tyrion grew increasingly restless as the ships approached. If she accepted, she would gain a welcome mass of ships that, to their immediate situation, held the potential to be terrible enemies. If she accepted, she risked being murdered in her bed by her savage husband once the Seven Kingdoms were achieved. If she denied, she risked Euron's wrath encasing them all, though, would he be so bold, and lose every chance of gaining his heart's desire? The Queen also possessed three extremely flammable dragons who would gladly incinerate his entire fleet, although, then they would lose all the potentially useful ships. Tyrion felt his head begin to ache.

'I suppose it comes down to whether, in this particular moment, you want those ships to be your friends, or your enemies,' he said, sighing, 'we could perhaps deal with a murderous husband further down the line, but-'

'No.'

Tyion looked up at her, surprised. She met his gaze, her eyes hardened.

'When I marry, it will not be to a murderous uncle,' she said with an edge of finality in her voice, 'and if he really wants the Seven Kingdoms, he will not risk destroying me.' Tyrion nodded. 

'Then I suppose we will merely pass, him being unable to stop us, though I imagine he will send his own terms soon enough,' he said.

And soon enough, Tyrion observed as a black raven glided swiftly across the sea to meet them, the small brown scroll attached to its leg fluttering in the wind.

The raven was put in a cage, and the letter bearing a sigil Tyrion did not recognize delivered to the Queen. The sight of the sigil made Tyrion wary, there were not many he did not know, and why should it not be a kraken, the Greyjoy sigil? Danaerys broke the wax, and extracted the thin piece of folded parchment. She read the words carefully, and she blanched as she looked up, her lips moving soundlessly. She instantly fled to the railing, thrusting her body above the railing, and Tyrion feared she would fall. He quickly advanced, and he heard her screaming for her dragons, a mad look in her eyes. Three massive figures darted to her ship at the sound of her voice, swinging their tails above the waves, their eyes gleaming devilishly in the sun. Danaerys instantly relaxed, and Tyrion nearly saw a tear escape from her eye. She brushed it away, and extended a hand to the large red and black one. Drogon, Tyrion vaguely remembered.

Her hands nearly clasped on his scales, when the sound of a horn bellowed from the distance. Tyrion whipped around. It was a sound unlike any he had ever heard. It was a distorted scream, though it still held the rich, deep undertone of a horn. The dragons stiffened at the noise, their heads swaying towards the Iron Fleet. Suddenly, the two smaller dragons sped towards the sound, their wings flapping manically in their desperation to reach the noise. Drogon seemed to wish to follow them, but Daenerys reached over, and clamped a firm hand on his neck, her hands scraping into his scales.

'You're mine,' she whispered firmly, 'you are my child, do not leave your mother, Drogon.' She watched, tears trickling down her face as two of her beloved children flew towards the fleet. Tyrion stared, confused and bewildered.

'What are they...what's happening? What are they doing?' he stammered. Wordlessly, Danaerys shoved the letter into his hands, while still keeping a firm hand on Drogon. Tyrion's eyes quickly flew over the ink, and he found himself staring at the words, willing them not to make sense.

He tore his gaze from the parchment, and watched as the two dragons disappeared on the decks of two of the distant ships, their cries floating from where they were captured.

_Captured. Euron Greyjoy has a dragon horn from the ruins of Old Valyria, and has managed to capture two of her majesty's dragons. This is not good._

The letter was brief and to the point. It said  _My Queen, I write to inform you of an alliance I would like to forge with you, may our houses come to greatness. You are in need of my ships, and a loyal husband. I would gladly offer you both, as I am a generous man. In return for my generosity, I would like my dear niece and nephew, I have been informed of their presence in your midst. I would also appreciate your loyalty, and a crown. I do think we would be perfect ruling side by side on the Iron Throne, although, of course I could settle for your most trusted advisor._

_I also possess a most interesting artifact I'm sure you'll find quite amusing. You see, when I blow it, I'm afraid I gain the control of your precious dragons. I think I will take them to further ensure our forged alliance._

_If none of my terms are met my nightfall, if you do not allow my niece and nephew to visit their dearest uncle, and your hand to grasp mine in marriage, I'm afraid you will find yourself without any children, or, you will find yourself destroyed by them. As I am generous, I am also indecisive._

_Please heed my words carefully, and I will be honoured to be your most trusted companion._

_Euron Greyjoy_

He only managed to capture two dragons, Tyrion thought to himself, hope rising. 

'Your Grace, you still possess Drogon, perhaps now is the time to act, this man is nothing but murderous,' he said.

' _I will not harm my children,'_ she hissed, her eyes darkening. 'If I send Drogon to incinerate him and his ships to be done with him forever, I risk losing two of my children...' She caressed Drogon's scaled head, and Tyrion saw tears on her cheeks. _They are not your children,_ Tyrion thought. They were clever, dangerous, fearsome beasts, but they were not her children. 

'I...' he glanced down at his boots. 'I will summon the Greyjoy siblings. They are implicated in this letter, and we have to act quickly.'

The Queen nodded. 

'Of course,' she said hastily, swiping at her tears. 

Tyrion hurried past her into her cabin, and sat at her desk to write a letter to the Greyjoy ship.

They were dealing with a dangerous man, possibly a mad one, by the wording of his letter.

Tyrion drew a quill, dipped it delicately in ink, and began to write.

~

The Greyjoys arrived at the ship with surprising speed, their dory bumping gently against the side of the ship. Asha mounted the deck regally, her shoulders rolled back, her stance proud. It was quickly broken when she hastily kneeled to grasp Theon's wavering hand, and haul his gaunt frame onto the ship. His hollow eyes gazed furtively about the ship, and he dropped Asha's hand with a shade of reluctance, Tyrion noticed, his fingers lingering on her palm. She marched towards him, her brother staggering in tow, and they collectively entered the Queen's cabin to take seats on the opposite side of her desk. She stared back at them, and Tyrion pulled up a rickety chair by her side. He had informed them of the conditions in the letter, and they did not seem particularly surprised.

'Of course my nuncle wants us,' Asha said flatly, 'he wants to murder us.' The Queen nodded, her demeanour reverted to its usual stoic, straight backed position, although he noticed a slight tremor in her hands she held placed on the desk in front of her.

'So, he's managed to capture two of your dragons?' she went on, 'do you have some sort of plan?'

Tyrion exchanged a brief glance with the Queen, and she reluctantly shook her head.

'Not...particularly,' she replied. Asha nodded, pursing her lips.

'I want my children back, that is the most immediate concern,' said the Queen, 'he destroy us with them. They are everything, they are power, and...we need to think of a plan by nightfall.'

Silence accompanied this statement, and Tyrion swallowed dryly. They only had a matter of hours left to them.

Then Theon rose his head.

His eyes were not meek, or clouded, they were clear, and determined. Tyrion felt a jolt of unease at his expression.

'I'll go,' he said quietly. They gaped at him. Tyrion felt his jaw unhinge. What?

'What are you talking about, Theon?' Asha snapped, and worried frown plain on her face. Theon licked his lips, and lifted his chin, gaining more confidence, although Tyrion noticed he was trembling slightly.

'I'll go,' he repeated, 'I can...help. I will be one of the terms met by nightfall. We will devise a plan to regain the dragons, and I can help with it while on his side. On no accounts should you accept his marriage proposal, although I expect you already know that...' his gaze fell to his hands resting in his lap.

'You're not going, he'll kill you, Theon!' his sister exclaimed, her hand grasping his shoulder. He looked up at her.

'You know there is no other way. There is no other plan,' he replied calmly. She quietened at that, and bit her lip.

'I'm coming with you,' she decided. Theon hastily shook his head.

'No, you can't.'

'I'm not going to let you go alone-!'

'Asha,' he said, his voice firm, and unexpectedly strong, 'if you go, he will kill both of us. If I go alone, you will be here, a Greyjoy heir, the future of our house, the Queen of the Iron Islands. If you come, there will be no one left but him.'

She stopped at that, her eyes filled with sadness.

'I'm not going to leave you, little brother,' she said softly. They gazed intently into each other's eyes.

'I might come back,' he said, a small smile on his lips, 'the gods have never been merciful enough for death.'

She flung into his arms at that, and he clung to her, shivering. They embraced for a moment, and Tyrion gazed on in dread. There was no doubt the Greyjoy would die, he thought. Not too long ago, this prospect would not have been too undeserving, but now...

He shook his head. The boy was brave, stupid, but brave.

And now they had the beginnings of a plan...

~

Tyrion watched beneath a sky bleeding with the colours of the sunset as Theon embraced his sister farewell. She smiled wanly at him when they parted, and she cried not a single tear.

'Don't die, baby brother,' she said quietly. He smiled, and nodded.

'Not again,' he replied.

The Queen solemnly took his hand, and she gazed at him meaningfully.

'We will not abandon you,' she said. Theon nodded.

'Thank you,' he said. She drew away, and then it was Tyrion's turn.

He hesitantly advanced, unsure of what to say. The boy was heading towards his doom, unless they could help him in time. He seemed calm, collected, his face serene. Tyrion extended his hand, and Theon shook it, his grip weak and uncertain, but there was a sort of strength behind it.

'Greyjoy...' he stammered, 'I...I find myself no longer loathing you, which is interesting for me, and...' he sighed, and looked up into the boy's eyes. They were grey, and green, the colours of the sea on a foggy afternoon. They were troubled and held more misery and pain than anything Tyrion had ever seen, but they held strength, and a sense of resolve. 

'I suppose, what I mean to say is...' he bit his lip, 'I will be most sorry if you die, so, try not to, alright?' Theon nodded dutifully.

'Thank you, Lannister,' he replied gently, 'I will try not to.'

'Why are you so...easy to do this?' he couldn't help ask. Theon shrugged.

'I am broken,' he admitted, 'I have done terrible things, harmed so many...' he gazed distantly at the sea, 'I don't know why I'm alive. The only thing I can do now, is try my best to help. I'm...not much, not particularly useful to anyone, but...' his cheeks flushed, and he lowered his eyes.

'You are of importance,' Tyrion found himself saying, 'you are useful.'

Theon looked at him, startled, but he managed a small smile of gratitude.

'Thank you, Lannister,' he replied.

Tyrion watched as Theon lowered himself into the dory, and sailed to an uncertain fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 5 will be out sooner, or not, I have to go away for a couple of days, but I will be back! Please tell me if you like where this story is going, and I thank you all for pushing me to keep going, your comments were lovely! 
> 
> P.S. I don't think Tyrion has heard of Myrcella's death yet, has he? Or has Varys informed him already? I don't remember, sorry. I'm just going with he doesn't know yet, correct me if I'm wrong, please. I'll just have him pleasantly find out in Dorne, shall I?
> 
> Also, Euron sigil on the letter is two black crows above a crown above an eye with a red iris on a deep blue field, you can look it up.


	5. Crow's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the world is cruel to Theon Greyjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! Sadly, this one takes a turn for the worse, but what did you expect? Euron is not a nice, fluffy guy.  
> Speaking of which, I did say I wasn't going to write show version Euron, but book Euron. Book Euron is crazy, but in the very calm, sadistic, charismatic way. He does have an eyepatch to cover his dark brown eye, while his bright blue eye, his smiling eye, is uncovered (and creepy). He owns a ship called the Silence, which is manned by mutes whose tongues Euron unfortunately had ripped out. He has a dragon horn, which he has used by this point in the story. I'm only saying this for the show people who need to read the books, by the way, instead of fan fiction 
> 
> Anyway, I don't know if I have captured book Euron to anyone's standards, but I tried. I'm sorry if I failed.
> 
> Besides his ship, dragon horn, and personality changing, the plot stays the same.
> 
> I apologize in advance for this chapter, and thank you for reading!
> 
> The first part is a Theon POV, and then it switches to Tyrion, then back to Theon.
> 
> Also, none of my work is beta'd so expect spelling errors.

Theon dragged the oars through the water, his arms and back aching with the effort. Not all the wounds decorating his body were healed, and his skin burned and stung as it stretched. The letter the Queen had scrawled to Euron was placed securely in his doublet, and with each passing stroke of the oars, Theon felt his heart sinking lower and lower, fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. His stomach churned, and he was partly glad he had not eaten anything since the morning. It was nearly nightfall, the sun was beating low on the horizon, and Theon could see the first lights of stars glittering innocently in the sky. 

 _Would that I were as far away from all of this as them,_ he thought miserably,  _would that I could fly away, like a dragon._

Except the dragons could not fly away. They were trapped, but for Drogon, and the Queen had insisted upon him flying far away so as to escape the sound of the horn.

_A dragon horn._

Theon could scarce believe such an object of power could exist, but then again, he could hardly believe dragons inhabited the world as well. 

Now he was sailing towards his dearest uncle to an uncertain, but, most certain fate. He knew, he could  _feel_ he wouldn't stand a chance against him, that their ill formed plan would most likely end in blood, fire, and a terminal loss on both sides. 

Theon knew he did not matter in this affair, that his death would go unmourned by all except perhaps his sister. He found he did not much mind. After everything, death was not such an unpleasant prospect. 

It was what people like Ramsay, and his uncle enjoyed to do that caused him to fear. He was sailing straight into the arms of another tormentor, a man who had murdered their father, and would certainly take pleasure in harming and murdering him and Asha. Theon remembered what Ramsay did to women. He bit his lip, and forced the unwelcome images from his mind. Euron would never have Asha, that Theon promised himself. Asha couldn't be broken like him, she had to stay whole, and strong. 

Strong like a kraken, he thought vaguely, as his eyes travelled over the rippling waves.

Theon would be a pawn in another game, another plan, but at least this time was slightly different. He was not being shoved against his will, but he volunteered. Why? The question often drifted through his mind, but he knew the answer.

Because it was what needed to be done. The Queen needed her dragons, and to defeat this mad man who wanted her crown. Asha needed to get rid of their uncle to become Queen of the Iron Islands. 

Nobody needed Theon.

He wasn't important, he wasn't useful, but now he had the chance to be. He could help, he could try to do good for the ill he has caused. He wanted to be of use, he wanted to  _try_ to help.

No one needed Theon Greyjoy, but they needed what, at this particular moment, he could do. And that was help, help to the best of his abilities because no one needed him to survive, and for someone who did not need to survive could do anything, could risk everything to help a cause greater than himself.

He thought of Tyrion's words, when he bid farewell on the deck of the ship.

_You are of importance, you are useful._

Theon nearly chuckled to himself, if he could remember how. The words were sparks of light in the darkness creeping around him, but they were only words. Not truth, and he was most certainly surprised such words of kindness came from Lannister's mouth. 

Theon could only hope, after everything, that perhaps the plan would work, and the Queen and Asha would claim their crowns in the end for the benefit of Westeros. He could only hope he was doing something  _good._

His thoughts travelled to Sansa, her last embrace to him before he left to the place he thought to call 'home'. Theon briefly wondered what that was like, to have a home. He thought of how Sansa held him, her beaten form shivering in the cold. He wanted to do something for their family, to help, but at least they had escaped. Escaped from  _him._

Now she had regained her home, along with her half brother Jon Snow. Theon was glad, indescribably elated she had managed to regain Winterfell, and perhaps find happiness with it. 

 _I'll never see Sansa again_. There was a brief pause in his rhythmic rowing at the thought. She did not deserve to bother herself with him anyway, he had caused so much harm to her family. But that embrace had been the first one he had received in such a long time. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had held him in such a way. She had forgiven him, after everything, and Theon...Theon could only think  _why?_

Then the dory bumped against the  _Silence._ Theon's mouth went dry, and he slowly drew the oars back into the boat. The  _Silence_ was Uncle Euron's ship, and it was manned by mutes.  _Men who had their tongues ripped out on his orders._ Theon swallowed, and looked up. Just as he did, a long, rope ladder swung over the side and nearly collided with his head. He threw up his arms in time, and caught the end. 

Theon breathed deeply, attempting to still his heart as it pounded madly in his chest, and he slowly drew himself up the ladder, his knuckles white as his hands clutched the rope.

Eventually, Theon reached the deck, and he reluctantly hauled himself on the wood, his hands trembling slightly.

 _Never again. Reek is dead. Never again will you let yourself be buried and lost inside him._  

As soon as he stood on the deck, a group of mutes approached him, their eyes slightly distant.  _They look dead._ Theon felt he knew what that was like.

Theon slightly backed away from them, conscious of the edge of the deck where the water churned down below. A much more welcome fate, he thought. 

Then he saw his uncle Euron advance towards him. Theon's breath caught in his throat, but he did not cringe, or cower. He stood, and held his ground. 

Euron walked across his ship with a swagger, his blue smiling eye glinting in the dying light of the sun. Lanky black hair fell across his forehead and nearly reached his shoulders, while an eye patch crossed his face like a scar. His mouth was curled in an unpleasant smile, as though he knew the gods were on his side.

 _They probably are,_ Theon found himself thinking,  _gods are cruel, and so is he. They must get along splendidly._  

Euron strode straight up to Theon, and frowned slightly, looking past him. His brow rose.

'So they just brought me you?' he said, looking Theon up and down. Theon nodded, and drew the letter, clutching it firmly in his hand. Euron's smile returned, and he accepted the letter, taking time to touch along the stump of Theon's little finger. It stung, but Theon did not pull away. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and relaxed when Euron finally let his hand go. Theon hid it behind his back. 

Euron unfolded the letter, and scanned it briefly. He chuckled to himself, crumpled it up, and threw it over the side of the ship. Theon didn't flinch.

'So, the Mother of Dragons accepts my hand in marriage, and my dear niece will visit me later. In the meantime, I have you,' Euron's eyes flicked hungrily over Theon. 'What fun.'

Theon resisted the urge to shiver at the words, but balled his hands into fists.

'Her Grace is most apologetic not to come at once, as is my sister, but things have to be done, as they are in control of a fleet. They thought sending me would be evidence of an accepted alliance.' Theon hoped his voice sounded clear and calm, but he very much doubted it. Euron nodded, his eye glinting with a hint of malice. 

 _If he kills me now, its all over,_ he thought. But Euron wouldn't do that. Theon could tell Euron liked games, liked the rush and the hunt before the kill.  _Like Ramsay. Ramsay loved games._ Theon experienced a flush of dread.

'My dear Theon,' Euron said quietly, placing a hand on Theon's cheek. Theon didn't breathe, but waited until Euron lowered his hand. 'What fun we shall have, I do believe we have a lot of catching up to do. How tall you've grown!' He smiled. His voice was soft, and calm, but laced with a silver edge. Then his smile fell slightly.

'But, you did miss my coronation,' he said, displaying a look of hurt. 'You ran away with your sister, I do believe you have wounded your dear uncle.'

'I'm sorry,' Theon replied vacantly, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. 'We had things to do.'

Euron nodded. 'I'm sure you did, I'm sure you did...' he muttered absently. Then he clapped his hands, causing Theon to flinch.

'Well! Much to do, dragons have been occupying most of my life at the present moment,' he said, grinning. Theon's eyes travelled the rest of the ship, and landed on a large, green and gold dragon lying in a cage on the deck. Theon's heart flipped into his mouth. The dragon was calm, and peaceful, his eyes closed, his back rising and falling with deep sighs. Where was the other one? Euron's ravens were all held in separate cages, piled atop one another, near the front of the ship. They squawked, and ruffled their feathers restlessly.

Then, resting at the prow of the ship, and twisted like a demon, he saw a horn. It was of a monstrous size, banded with red and gold with a sinister, black gleam. It was held upright on a metal stand, and Theon noticed small, peculiar engravings decorating the exterior. It looked evil, but Theon knew that couldn't be true. Only the man who blew the horn could be so, the horn itself merely waited.

'I'm sorry about this, nephew,' Euron went on, 'but I can't have you in the way while I'm deeply busy.' Theon jumped as a mute seized him at the shoulders, and held him as another clapped manacles on his wrists linked together with a heavy iron chain. Theon swallowed dryly. He expected this, he did, but he was not ready for it.

Theon had been a prisoner for more than half his life. Theon always suspected he would die a prisoner, trapped, chained in the dark. Chains were also extremely inconvenient. He forced a small smile to on his lips, and nodded to Euron.

'Of course, uncle, I understand,' he said. Their plan was not deeply organized, or clever, and nearly held no chance of working. Theon knew he would most likely die without Asha and the Queen gaining what was theirs, without vanquishing his uncle, but it didn't hurt to  _try._ He blinked.

_No, it will hurt. It will hurt a lot._

'Perhaps I'll visit you later, Theon,' said Euron as Theon was dragged away, 'I do so look forward to it.' Theon nodded dumbly, and felt he could not say the same.

Theon was taken down below, into the brig, and shoved in a small cell with rotting straw littering the floor, and a barred door. He sat on the floor, the chains weighing heavy on his wrists, and tried not to think about the future.

Theon sat alone in his cell for the better part of an hour. He nearly enjoyed the time spent. It was time he was not being harmed. He always clung to these moments when he was trapped in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. Time alone was precious.

Theon spent the time writing a letter. He took out the quill, parchment, and bottle of ink he had tucked away, and scrawled carefully, though slightly pressingly, on the floor, brushing some straw aside. He didn't write much, merely the location of the dragon horn and the green dragon. He didn't know where the gold and white one was, but perhaps he would have the chance to find out. He finished, allowed the ink to dry while nervously looking up the passage. Finally, he was able to quickly stuff it in the pocket of his trousers, along with the quill and ink. 

Theon's blood ran cold as he heard the clomping of boots as they strolled easily down the passage, the clink of keys swinging eerily in the silence.

Euron's devilish grin rounded the corner, and peered at him through the bars. Theon hastily rose to a stand, brushing the straw from his clothes. Euron unlocked the door, and entered the cell, locking it behind him. He placed the ring of keys on his belt, and turned to Theon.

'Well, you do look pale,' he said quietly, then he quickly advanced, and grabbed Theon's arm. Theon didn't move. Euron squeezed, and looked thoughtful. 'And thin,' he shook his head. Theon wore no gloves, and he was aware of how bright the scars and stump on his hand were. Euron grabbed his mangled hand, and once again, ran his fingers along it, experimenting every wound and cut, tracing the stump delicately. Theon swallowed, but did not resist.

'My poor nephew,' Euron said softly, his eye flashing hungrily, 'what have they done to you? I would like to see.' Then, quick as a snake lunging for the kill, Euron unsheathed his dagger from his belt, and slid it swiftly down the front of Theon's shirt. Theon didn't move. He was aware of how sharp the taste of a knife could be.

Theon's shirt was wrenched apart to reveal the mess of mottled, twisted scars beneath, the flayings and brandings entwining his torso like strangling vines. Euron grinned, running his tongue along his lips. Theon cringed, but did not move.

Euron ran his hands over Theon's chest, tracing the tender wounds, and the cross branded in the hollow of his stomach. It took every ounce of Theon's control not to shiver, or flinch away. Then Euron's hand travelled to a particularly large gash, not completely healed, above Theon's hip. Quick, Euron jabbed a finger in the wound, spreading the flesh apart once more, and twisted viciously, before withdrawing. Theon gasped, but did not cry out. He bit his tongue, blood welling in his mouth, and felt pain flare from the wound. Euron seemed to frown slightly, as though he was expecting a more entertaining reaction. _Like Ramsay,_ Theon thought.  _Ramsay never died at Winterfell, he came back for me._ Theon shuddered, and nearly sobbed. Panic suddenly surged through him.

He couldn't do this, he couldn't be strong, Ramsay always knew how to hurt him, how to break him, he couldn't do this, he couldn't, he would fail Asha, and the Queen, he would be Reek once more.

_No_

He quickly collected himself. No, he had to do this, he had to be strong, he remembered his promise.

_He had to be Theon_

Euron scratched and prodded a few more wounds viciously, but Theon didn't cry, didn't cower, or back down. Euron smiled, and smashed his fist against Theon's jaw. Theon fell, hitting his head against the wall. He looked up at Euron blearily, his head throbbing painfully, and Euron seized the cut sides of his shirt, forcing him forward. Theon's chest was already bleeding again, and he felt something warm trickling down the side of his head. Euron was not smiling anymore. He shoved his face directly in front of Theon's, and glowered menacingly.

'Did you think I was a fool?' he whispered, 'I know you have one dragon left, I know they sent you because you don't matter. You're nothing,' he grinned, and punched Theon in the groin. Finally, Theon cried out. Pain burned, and red crossed his vision, though he didn't pass out. 

'You have a plan, don't you?' he sneered, 'a way? They think they can get their dragons back?' He laughed darkly, humourlessly, and unsheathed his dagger once more, pressing the tip to Theon's cheek. 

'You're going to tell me,' he dug the blade in slightly, and drew it slowly across his skin. Theon winced at the pain, and felt blood trickle from the wound, 'everything.' He withdrew the blade, and let it hover menacingly over his exposed chest.

Theon shook his head.

No he wouldn't.

Not again.

Theon closed his eyes.

~

Euron was gone, he had left in frustration, and anger. The mute had locked the door again, he seemed to carry his own ring of keys, and Theon lay, weak, bloody, bruised, but breathing, on the floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, and pain was his constant companion, it sang incessantly in his ears, but he was smiling.

His hand lay on the ground, closed around a small, metal key.

~

Tyrion paced the deck of the ship, muttering under his breath, his hands flailing for a purpose, and, finding none, forced to wring themselves. Asha stood at the prow, gazing over the sea, and hadn't moved since Theon left. It had been 4 collective hours, and still she had not moved, her axe resting at her side, her stance tall, and still as the boat rocked gently while anchored to the ocean floor. 

The Queen sat at the side of the ship, her face held in a glazed expression, her eyes empty, as though she had given up hope. Tyrion understood. Unless the boy was incredibly resilient, and held an interior most unlike his meek, frail exterior, their plan was nothing. It was practically nothing to begin with, but they were desperate. 

Another hour passed.

Then two. 

Then something small, and dark emerged from the darkness, flapping into the night. Could it be? Tyrion rushed to the prow beside Asha, who's eyes flicked to the obscure shape. The Queen joined them and together they waited with baited breath. They knew Euron had ravens. They knew it was their only hope, that, and Theon's survival. 

Then the raven flopped onto the deck, a letter attached to its leg. They all stared at it, then Asha lunged for it, her axe falling, her fingers tearing the letter from the startled bird. 

She unfolded it, and read it, her eyes flying over the page. Then she smiled. Tyrion felt himself relax. Asha handed the letter to the Queen, and then to Grey Worm, the silent Unsullied soldier. 

'Theon wrote it, its from Theon, he's alive, and this is everything we needed to know,' Asha said breathlessly. Tyrion sighed with relief. The boy had done it. 

Asha, and several ironborn soldiers rowed in two dories towards the head ship, while Grey Worm and a group of Unsullied sailed towards the one adjacent, under cover of darkness, their small boats cutting easily through the water.

Tyrion watched, and hoped.

~

Theon was crawling along the deck, his hands shaking, blood trickling from various wounds, and every part of his body aching and flaring with pain. He was used to pain. He greeted it like an old enemy.

He had escaped from his cell with the key he stole from Euron's belt. He had snuck about the deck, thankful of his small form, as he was able to creep silently to the collection of ravens at the prow. He had finished letter there, on the deck. He saw the gold and white dragon glinting in a cage in the adjacent ship, he eyed each and every mute standing guard along the two ships, the formation of the ships, everything. The ink dried quickly in the cool night air, and soon, a raven was sent gliding over the sea in the darkness, a letter fluttering from its leg. 

Now he waited in the shadows, shivering, and gasping at the haze of pain engulfing him.

He waited, and nearly fainted from the fear, the pain.

Then he saw chaos, and smiled.

Soldiers and mutes sprinted about the deck, fighting, screaming, though the screams of the mutes were horrifying, ragged, and guttural. 

Theon saw the mute who had locked him in his cell. He stood by the cage of the dragon, a sword in his hand, cutting down anyone who came near him. Theon crawled through the mess, pushing himself forward. He went around, and, armed with nothing but a key, came behind the mute, and shoved it in his ear. The mute yelled, and turned towards him, sword raised, but Theon mustered all the strength left in his body, and shoved his knee in the mute's stomach. He doubled over, and Theon grabbed his sword. With the butt end on the hilt, he slammed it over his head, and the mute fell over, unconscious. Theon dropped the sword, and snatched the keys from the mute's belt.

Fumbling with his fingers, some were broken, most were bleeding, he shoved one into the lock of the dragon cage. It didn't fit. 

Theon desperately tried a few more, but they didn't fit. Theon nearly cried in frustration, but finally, he jammed in the right one. The dragon was awake, and restless, staring at him with piercing, luminescent eyes. Theon turned the key in the lock, and heard it click. 

He flung open the cage, and the dragon stepped out into the moonlight. 

It gave him one last, lingering look, spread its glittering wings, and leapt into the night.

Theon sighed with relief.

Then he turned, and saw Euron. One of Euron's few expressions flared across his face in anger. His axe was raised, and he hacked mercilessly at anyone in his way. He was heading for the prow, Theon realized. For the horn.

Theon stumbled on broken, bleeding toes, one, the smallest on his right foot, was missing, the stump bleeding profusely, and burning.

He made it to the horn, and stared at it. It was large, six feet perhaps, and heavy looking. Theon knew in his current state he would never be able to hurl it over the side. Instead, he turned, and stood in front of it protectively, certain he was going to die at any moment.

Then Euron came, advancing towards him, his blue eye glowing with malice. He saw Theon, and smiled unpleasantly.

'Goodbye, nephew,' he said quietly, and stepped forward, his axe swinging forward. 

_This is it._

Theon didn't close his eyes, but stood straight, and tall, gazing forward as his fate flung towards him.

Then the blade stopped. There was a sickening crunching sound, and Euron turned around, stumbling, his face pulled into, for the first time Theon had ever seen, a look of surprise. Asha stood, her hands empty, her axe embedded in her uncle's back. Euron choked, made a small gurgling noise, and spat. 

Blood flew from his mouth in Asha's face. 

Then he chuckled, and fell over.

His blue eye stared vacantly, the light fading, his mouth still curled in a smile, and he died.

Asha swooped forward just as Theon fell, his knees smashing into the deck. She held him in her arms and Theon grinned at her blearily.

'Sister,' he muttered, and fainted.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and next chapter will be along soon.


	6. A Loss is Another's Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion, mostly. Aftermath of Iron Fleet battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I'm getting better at this... Hope you like this, a shout out to all those who left comments and encouraged me to keep writing this, thank you with all my heart!   
> This chapter is not as fast past as the last one, and it's mostly discussion, but I hope you like it anyway!  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This is a Tyrion POV.

Tyrion strode along the deck, the commotion, panic, and uproar of the previous night still gradually calming. The Iron Fleet was theirs, after Euron's death. Not many resisted, for the Ironborn were proud men, and a great number of them held no love or loyalty to Euron. There was a bit of objection when they found they would be in the control of two strong willed women, Danaerys, and Asha, but Asha stood on the prow of Euron's ship, her brother limp in her arms, and dragons swirling around her, one of which was occupied by the Queen, and soon, there was not much debate or resistance. Men tended to regain their senses when dragon fire was involved, Tyrion found.

Tyrion had witnessed this proud spectacle from afar, leaning over the prow in his desperation to know if their small forces had prevailed.

Asha and half her group of Ironborn, the other half staying to commandeer the ships, returned after her informal self-coronation in the weak hours of the morning, the sun just beginning to rise from beneath the horizon. Tyrion ran to the edge of the ship, to see her board with the bloodied, bruised, unconscious form of Theon Greyjoy resting in her arms. Her tunic was smeared with his blood, but she did not let go of him. She did not allow anyone to touch him, and when Tyrion came within closer proximity, he nearly retched at what he saw.

Theon was a mess, though all the scars were hidden by blood. He could not make out distinct injuries, but he was missing his shirt and his boots, his feet were dripping blood onto the deck, and Theon looked so peaceful and calm in her arms, his eyes closed as though sleeping, Tyrion feared he was dead.

'Is he...?' He couldn't form the words. Asha didn't even glance at him, but shoved past, and hurried to the Queen's cabin. Tyrion trailed after her, confused.

'I'm sure the Queen won't mind,' she said breathlessly, kicking open the door.

'Take one of her sheets and put it on the floor,' she commanded, rushing into the room without looking behind her. Tyrion silently obeyed, surprising himself, and tore a white sheet from the Queen's bed, laying it out carefully on the floor, then folding it over once. Asha set her brother down gently on top, and he moaned softly. Tyrion stared. He was alive.

Asha was more agitated and worried than he had ever seen her. She ripped another sheet from the bed, and began tearing it into strips. The thought of what the Queen would say about them dismantling her bed briefly crossed his mind, but the sight of Theon's blood smeared all over the sheet made him more ill. 

'Fetch a maester, anything, get some water, a bucket, I need to cleanse the wounds, I need...' she stared up at him, and for the first time, he saw desperation in her face, and Tyrion wordlessly vacated the room in search of a maester. Did they even possess one? He didn't remember...

He had eventually found the Queen, sitting at the prow with her dragons. She had found a healer from the bowels of the ship Tyrion couldn't remember ever having boarded, and was even less enthusiastic when he found it was a Red Woman, one of the followers of R'hllor, their fire demon, or whatever it was called. 

Now, Tyrion merely strode the length of the deck over and over. The morning bled into the afternoon, the Queen had dealt with the confusion of gaining Euron's mass of ships, he learned from her of their victory, and Euron's death. He absentmindedly counselled her over certain decisions, and she listened attentively, drawing her own conclusions. Now, she sat at the prow, her dragons drifting, free, along the sea. The dragon horn was in her possession, and it sat on it's iron stand menacingly, looking out to sea, gleaming devilishly in the light of the sun. Tyrion did not like the looks of it. She seemed to be vacantly stroking her fingers along the edge, entranced by the malicious beauty of the instrument. 

'What should I do with it?' she murmured almost to herself, but loud enough for Tyrion to hear. He leaned against the railing beside her, and shrugged.

'I don't like the looks of it, to tell you the truth,' he replied, his thoughts ever drifting to the bloody form of Theon on the ground. Asha had stayed with the Red Woman, and hadn't left the cabin all morning. Tyrion wondered if the boy would live. It didn't look too plausible.

The Queen's fingers lingered on the horn, and she bit her lip.

'What if...my children don't listen to me?' she said quietly, 'what if I need this kind of control? Dragons can never be tamed...'

Tyrion frowned. Perhaps she was right, they were dangerous beasts, and what if one day they took it upon themselves to wreak havoc, burn, and destroy? Danaerys wouldn't be able to control them then...

But it was wrong. They were wild animals, not dogs. They needed to be free, not tied to the earth, and bound against their will. Dragons, he found, were astoundingly intelligent creatures. They seemed to recognize their 'mother's' love, and they returned it with loyalty. There was a sacred bond there, and if she used such a device, perhaps she would betray them? Tyrion shook his head, they were animals, it was much too confusing.

'I fear...' he began hesitatingly, 'I fear if you hold such a powerful device, it will work against you. Who's to say no one will ever steal it, and use it to their own advantage, as Euron did? It is too dangerous,' he reasoned. 'A...a mother should have the sole control, and it should be with the bond you have established now, not a false, forced one with this horn.'

The Queen stayed silent for a moment, obviously pondering his words, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions. Then she shook her head.

'Even my love is not enough,' she replied sadly, 'Drogon...Drogon burned a child...' she averted her gaze, and withdrew her hand. 'I need such a device. Children...children will not always be loyal to their mothers.'

Tyrion's mouth went dry at the thought. A child? He shuddered. It was not right, but... He glanced at the horn, and could nearly feel it _pulsing_. Such a device should never be used, he thought. The damage it had caused in Euron's hands... It would take anyone, any thief at all, and the Queen's dragon's would be in their power. Tyrion didn't believe in magic, even with everything he had seen, but he did believe in people. 

He did recognize their dark ambitions and their deceiving, conniving minds.

'I don't think your grace should keep it,' he said, with an edge of firmness in his voice. She hesitated, then nodded in ascent.

'Yes,' she sighed, 'I suppose I agree. I'll have them throw it over the side.' 

Tyrion stepped back as she abruptly stood.

'I need use of my cabin,' she announced, 'I must compose a letter to Lord Varys informing him of the recent...events.' Tyrion nodded in agreement.

'I shall accompany your grace,' he said. She did not object, but swept away to the stern with Tyrion in tow.

She gently opened the door to her cabin, as though expecting an intruder on the inside. Tyrion felt his heart flip into his mouth as she slid it open.  _He's dead, he's died, he's most certainly died..._

They plodded silently into the room, and Tyrion nearly gagged at the stench of blood hanging heavy in the air. The Queen ignored it, and slid behind her desk, reaching for a quill. The Red Woman knelt by the boy, and, when she saw they had entered, immediately stood. Asha sat on the other side of her brother, her eyes dark and heavy with exhaustion.

'I dressed his wounds, most were not too serious,' said the priestess calmly, 'I saw there were many others underneath, however, and he has lost a lot of blood,' she added. 'I will return at nightfall to change his bandages, I'm confident he'll survive.' Then, she took her leave, striding silently out onto the deck.

Asha glared after her.

'I don't like that woman,' she said, 'she had all these strange...potions and powders, I didn't let her use any. I need only to take one look at my uncle Euron to know how these...strange, Essos magics will do for a person.' Tyrion didn't say anything, but he silently agreed. He felt wary of the priestess as well.

The Queen dropped her quill, and came to sit beside Asha. Tyrion advanced as well.

'I believe you should get some rest,' said Danaerys quietly. Asha shook her head, her grip tightening slightly on her brother's hand. He sighed quietly in his sleep.

'I can't leave him...not again,' she replied softly. 'He still hasn't woken.'

Tyrion forced his feet forward, and he sat on the other side of Theon's frail form. He looked dead, his face pale, a gash on his cheek carefully cleansed, bruises under his eye, blooming on his cheek, and jaw. His entire body was encased in crisp, white linen slightly stained with blood, it wrapped along his arms, and a few of his fingers were encased tightly. He wore a new set of trousers, and his feet were heavily bandaged as well. Asha frowned at Tyrion.

'What are you doing here?' she snapped, 'why do you care?' Tyrion shrugged.

'I don't know,' he admitted, 'I suppose the boy has...grown on me. I don't wish him ill, at least.' He knew he cared more, deep down, but he would never tell Asha anything of the sort.

'Go, Asha,' the Queen urged, 'you are Queen of the Iron Islands, have a rest, for there will be much to do on the morrow.' Asha shook her head, more fiercely.

'What if he dies, and I'm not here?' she said, 'what if he dies alone? He's died before, he's been shattered, and broken...' she bit her lip, 'when, if he wakes, he may not be Theon anymore. I'll need to bring him back...' Tyrion found himself puzzling at her words. Then a sudden anger flashed across her face.

'Theon!' she yelled, 'Theon, you arse hole, get up!' She raised her hand, and moved to strike him, but she relented, and let her hand fall. 'Fucking shit,' she muttered. 

Then Theon suddenly frowned in his sleep. Then his body started jerking, and he began mumbling incoherently, anguish spreading across his face. 'No...' he mumbled quietly, then he became more violent, convulsing strangely on the floor. He's having a nightmare, one of those...nightmares, Tyrion knew instantly. 

'No...please, stop,' Theon sobbed, 'no, I'll...I'll be good, good reek, loyal reek, please...' Tyrion felt his heart wrench as tears began to trickle down Theon's face, and Asha squeezed his flailing hand harder, then began shaking him.

'Theon!' she screamed, 'Theon, stop it, wake up...' 

'No, master, please, no...' Then his words shifted into cries of pain, anguished pleas, Asha slapped her brother across the face, and his eyes fluttered open. He stared at them wildly, his breaths coming in heavy, ragged wheezes. 

'Theon, Theon, stop, it's me,' Asha said quickly, no doubt attempting to be soothing. He eventually relaxed, and ceased struggling, only to wince and gasp in pain.

'Asha...' he gasped quietly, 'Asha...my fingers.' Asha quickly dropped his hand, and he cringed as it hit the floor.

'Sorry, right, broken fingers,' she said hastily. A small, weak smile spread across his lips. 

'Asha...' he breathed, then his expression clouded, and he grimaced. Then he took a sharp intake of breath, and Asha's eyes widened as she surveyed the blood leaking rapidly through his bandages.

'You idiot, you shit!' she snapped, 'you've pulled your stitching, and wounds...' Theon's eyes seemed to focus.

'What?' he said blearily, 'I have...stitching? Someone's...bandages...' His eyes widened in alarm, and his hand flew up to his chest to touch the damp fabric.

'He...I can't...he doesn't like it...he likes the wounds to fester, no, take them off, no...' Panic flared across Theon's face, and he seemed to change, his eyes drawing into themselves, glazed as though haunted, a hunted animal. He began shivering uncontrollably, and his hand seized Asha's arm. He didn't seem aware of anyone else's presence in the room.

'Asha, run, go, take them off, go, he'll find you, I know what he does to women, please, he can't take you...' Theon began struggling, grabbing at his own bandages, crying at the pain, and Tyrion seized his wrist.

'Theon, stop,' he commanded.  _The boy was utterly mad._ But Theon couldn't see him.

'Not Theon, not Theon,' he was shaking his head viciously. Tyrion, to his dread, could see blood leaking through his trousers. 'My name is reek, my name is reek, it rhymes with weak, freak, meek, I have to remember my name!' he was raving, fighting Tyrion's grip. Tyrion felt sick, his stomach churned. The Queen stared, her face white.

'Theon!' Asha screamed, then slapped his face again. It seemed to shock him, and he blinked, panting. Then the light in his eyes slowly came back. His breathing slowed, and seemed to see where he was. Then his face crumpled, and tears slid down his cheeks. He lifted his hand, grimacing slightly, and placed his right, mangled hand on Asha's cheek, holding her firmly, as though he would drift away.

'Asha...' He choked, and let the tears stream from his eyes. 'Asha, I...I was in the Dreadfort, Ram-Ram-Ramsay, Ramsay...' he forced the name through his lips with obvious effort, 'I thought I was back, I thought he came back for me...' He closed his eyes, and wept silently. Tyrion gently let go of his wrist. Asha held his hand to her cheek as he began to weaken, and Tyrion could see, for the first time, a tear welling in her eye.

'Ramsay is dead, Theon,' she said quietly, 'he will never hurt you again. Euron hurt you, and he is dead too.' Tyrion tasted bile at the back of his throat.  _This...This is horrible._ Then Theon's eyes widened.

'Did we...did you do it? Are you Queen, do we...did it work? Asha?' he stammered. Asha smiled, and nodded.

'It's 'your grace', Theon,' she said, smirking. Theon made a small noise as though attempting to chuckle, but it ended in a wince. Asha frowned.

'You stupid fucker,' she muttered, 'now we've got to reset your bandages.' She paused, and grimaced, 'and your trousers.' Theon's eyes widened. He shook his head.

'No, please, don't,' he said hastily. Then his eyes found Tyrion for seemingly the first time.

'Lannister?' he croaked, 'what are you doing here?' Then he found Danaerys, and he shook his head more firmly.

'No, please Asha, I don't want them to see,' he begged. 

'Shut up, now, Lannister, help him up, you've got to be useful for something,' she said, taking Theon's arm. Theon was still shaking his head, more frantically now. Then Tyrion took his other side. Together, they lifted him to a sitting position, and he gasped in pain.

'I need to get you to the bed, if that is alright with your majesty,' she added as an afterthought. The Queen hastily nodded.

'Of course,' she said, 'you've already stripped it, I don't see why I would have any objection.' Asha smirked, and put Theon's arm around her shoulder.

'Can you walk?' she asked. Theon nodded.

'I made it from the brig to the prow, I think I can walk,' he replied reluctantly. Then his brow furrowed.

'He put me in chains, but...I think he removed them for one of his games,' he said quietly, then visibly shuddered. Tyrion didn't want to think about what sort of games Euron liked to play, but felt he had a good idea.

Asha lifted him to his feet, and he cried out, but they managed to get him sitting on the edge of the bed. Then Asha began gently unwinding his soaked bandages. Theon gasped, and took sharp intakes of breath. Once they were removed, though they kept the ones on his hands, Tyrion lowered his gaze. 

Asha took one of the buckets of water sitting in the corner the Red Woman had requested, and dipped a cloth inside. The Queen returned to her letter, and Tyrion merely watched as Asha dabbed at the various wounds, Theon wincing, and gasping all the while. Once they were clean, Tyrion could finally make them out, and he nearly vomited. His stomach flipped, but he managed to swallow the bile creeping up his throat. 

The branding of the cross in the hollow of his stomach looked to have been traced with a knife. Various of his old wounds had been split apart, and new flayings and cuts lacerated his torso. How was the boy still alive? He looked like his own battle ground.

'If Euron wasn't already dead, I would kill him again, more slowly this time.' Asha seethed between clenched teeth. Theon didn't say anything again, until Asha wrapped knew bandages around his torso and arms, and then turned her attention to his trousers.

'They have to come off, Theon,' she said flatly as he continued to shake his head.

'No, I-I don't want you to see,' he said desperately. 

'Theon! You are not a child! I should not have to be begging you, now, I'm going to take of the damn trousers whether you like it or not!' She snapped, kneeling. Tyrion's brow furrowed. What had Euron done to him that he did not want Asha to see, that he was so terribly anguished about? Theon began to struggle, and Asha motioned for Tyrion.

'Come and help me, Lannister, hold him steady,' she said exasperatedly. Tyrion wordlessly obliged, surprised he obeyed so readily, and held Theon's thin shoulders. 

Then the trousers came off. Then the bandages.

Tyrion felt himself staring, and a low anger began to simmer inside him.

'Your uncle-?' he began. Theon covered his face with his bandaged hands, his cheeks flushing. Asha shook her head.

'No, Ramsay, but...Euron has...oh...' Asha's face crumpled. 'I looked away before, when the Red Woman was dressing the wounds there...'

Tyrion couldn't. He grabbed a bucket filled with water and Theon's blood, and retched. He closed his eyes to the images seared into his mind, and felt his stomach empty itself into the bucket. _Oh, gods..._

Theon's legs were laced with wounds, old and new alike, and his groin was a...mess. How could the boy walk? Euron had  _traced_ and-and cut,  _oh._ Tyrion willed the images to flee, and did not get up from his knees until Asha firmly announced she had put some new trousers on, and Tyrion, testing his stomach, slowly rose to a stand. The boy... _no, that was not strictly true._ Tyrion instantly hated himself for thinking the words. Theon gazed up at him miserably. 

They lay him back on the bed, to his protests, and Asha soon lay beside him, the exhaustion finally bearing down on her. The Queen seemed to have no objections to the thieving of her bed, but she claimed, after finishing her letter, and various others, she would take a stroll on the deck to clear her mind. 

Tyrion stayed in the room, sitting in a chair at Theon's bedside, slightly content, for he had managed to get his hands on the flagon of wine from the Queen's table, and an elegant glass to pour it in.

Asha was already asleep, her chest rising and falling softly with each breath. Tyrion saw Theon wasn't sleeping. His eyes stared at the floor as he was lying on his side. 

'You...' Tyrion hesitated, and Theon's eyes flicked upwards towards him. Tyrion sighed. 'You were brave,' he said eventually, 'stupid, but brave,' he added. 'It was stupid of you to volunteer to go, it was stupid of us to  _allow_ you to do such a thing, and...' He stopped as Theon smiled wanly.

'Thank you, Lannister,' he said raggedly. Tyrion deflated a bit, and managed to return the gesture, his lips curling slightly, sadly.

'You...' he couldn't stop himself, 'you know the Unsullied, they have no...' Theon's smile faded slightly.

'Yes, I know,' he responded softly.

'Yes, well, you...might want to have a chat with Grey Worm sometime.' Tyrion realized what he said, and quickly shoved his cup to his lips. 

'What do you imagine we would talk about, Lannister?' Theon replied, with a tone of resentment. Tyrion hastily shrugged.

'I don't-I don't know, he's a good lad, smart, I think, though a bit vacant, but I think you two would get along...splendidly...' Tyrion closed his eyes. This was not going well.

'And-and Varys, too, you know, I think...' Tyrion mentally cursed himself. Perhaps this wine was not a good idea, it was causing his tongue to flounder. Theon did not respond, but seemed to be staring more fiercely at the floor, his cheeks flushing slightly.

'I'm...I'm sorry,' Tyrion muttered. 'You-you did a good thing, Greyjoy, saving the Queen's dragons, and-and such...' Theon bit his lip.

'He wanted to know...the plan...I didn't tell him, mostly because...' Theon hesitated, 'because we didn't entirely have one, and, I knew I would die there, with him, and, it...it was alright, I'm...useless, I know I don't matter, I'm broken, and-and...' Theon closed his eyes. Tyrion felt his heart sink to his knees. This... this...he couldn't imagine...

Tyrion sighed, and cautiously stretched out a hand.

'Greyjoy,' he said quietly, 'Greyjoy...stop. You are...not useless, not _broken,_ you were...strong.' Tyrion bit his lip. 'Stronger than most men I know. I...' his voice lowered, and he forced the words to his lips, 'I killed my own father.' 

Theon glanced up, slightly startled. Tyrion sighed once more.

'Yes, he...wanted to execute me for a murder I did not commit, and...'  _and he slept with Shae. He slept with the woman I loved..._ 'and my brother, Jaime, set me free.'

Theon was quiet for a moment.

'My father...' he cringed, then a faint, wan smile traced his lips, 'the death of Lord Eddard Stark pained me more than that of my own father.' Then a faint, estranged chuckle escaped from his chest. 'I remember,' he said quietly, 'I remember your words at Winterfell.  _Your loyalty to your captures is touching,'_ Theon laughed weakly, and Tyrion half feared his wits had scattered again.

'My...my father left me to rot in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, I... part of why I stole Winterfell was to make him proud, _proud,_ for, the first time he saw me after ten years, he regarded me with anger and disgust. He thought I was a  _Stark,'_ Theon laughed again, he didn't seem to be speaking to Tyrion anymore, ' a  _Stark._ I could never be a Stark, Robb always reminded me of that...I...I remember I wanted Lord Eddard to look at me the same way he looked at Robb, with pride, with-with love...' his voice broke, 'I remember  _Ice,'_ word was spoken with bitterness and anger, 'I remember that bloody Great sword looming over my shoulder, I remember its shadow, and I remember when Lord Stark took me up to the hill to watch an execution for the first time...' Theon closed his eyes, exhausted, spent, weak. 'I  _knew_ what Lord Stark would do one day, if my father rebelled again...I should be dead for what I did, _I should be dead..._ '

Theon shivered, and pressed his face into his hands. He gasped with pain and guilt, and Tyrion placed the wine on the Queen's desk. He...he couldn't drink it anymore. He felt ill...this...

Tyrion stood, and wordlessly pulled the last remaining blanket on the bed over Theon and Asha. He then grabbed the basket of linens the priestess left, and grabbed a small bottle labeled _Milk of the Poppy_. He poured a small amount into a glass, and thrust it under Theon's nose. He lowered his hands, Tyrion saw his eyes were red, and swollen, his bruised cheeks were stained with tears. Theon stared at the cup vacantly.

'Drink,' Tyrion commanded, 'it's milk of the poppy. Sleep, and...don't dream.'

Theon hesitantly accepted the glass, and downed the liquid swirling within. He blearily handed back to cup.

'Thank...you,' he murmured, and soon his eyes fluttered closed. A large dose made them unconscious, Tyrion knew.

'Sleep, and don't dream,' he muttered again.

 _Don't dream, pray to the gods you don't dream._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and next chapter will be along shortly! My postings are extremely irregular, but I eventually get them done.
> 
> PS. I forgot about Uncle Aeron, maybe he's just chilling on Pyke, or something, someone has to hold the fort.


	7. Writhing Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Docking in Dorne for a break and discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this because I thought the whole Varys super travelling business a bit confusing, so I avoided it all together, and I thought this sort of reunion and get together very intriguing and certainly fun to write.
> 
> Also, I reluctantly decided against switching the Sandsnake characters to those of the books like I did with Euron, because I thought it would be fun to kick their asses at some point, and I love to hate them.  
> Anyway, I hope you like the chapter, and thanks for reading!
> 
> This is a Theon POV.

They had been sailing for four days after the conquering of Euron's fleet. Theon lay on the floor of his cabin, though resting on a thin blanket placed there by Asha. He had insisted upon being moved back to where he belonged, as he felt horribly uncomfortable with using the Queen's bed. He had even protested to use his own cot, and eventually Asha gave up and allowed him to rest on the floor. Theon felt he was healing, or the wounds did not burn as much, and a few were sealing up quite nicely, he found. It was unusual for him to have his wounds tended to so carefully, and Asha had shoved the priestess away, claiming she could tend to her brother on her own. Theon was grateful. He did not much like the red woman either, he felt uneasy around her, and she seemed to stare at him as though she knew his most profound secret, as though his soul would spill in front of her for her to devour. It was strange, Theon knew, but he also thought there wasn't much of him left for her to consume. 

 _Let her starve,_ he thought, a small chuckle bubbling from his lips. Then he frowned. Perhaps his scattered thoughts were caused by the milk of the poppy Asha forced him to regularly drink, but a part of him doubted it. He shrugged. He was used to being mad. 

Then his door flung open, and Asha squeezed into his cramped cabin. She plonked herself on his bed, and began examining her fingernails.

'We've arrived in the docks of Dorne,' she announced. Theon looked at her, surprised. 'We'll be going to Sunspear for a few discussions with Prince Doran's murderers and Prince Oberyn's bastards,' she added casually, 'with the Tyrell grandmother, and the eunuch who spies for her grace.'

Theon raised himself to his elbows, movement was slowly getting easier, and he stared at her. He realized she was avoiding his gaze.

'Asha?' he asked quietly. She did not look up.

'Hmm?' 

'You're not going to leave me on the ship, are you?' He waited for a reply, but she merely turned over a nail, allowing it to catch the light from the candle on the table. She pursed her lips.

'Theon, you don't honestly believe I'm going to take you to Sunspear, you can hardly walk,' she replied calmly. Theon rolled onto his side a pushed himself up from the floor. She watched as he staggered to a stand, and leaned heavily against the door, panting slightly.

'I can walk,' he said, with a shade of indignation. She smiled faintly.

'Theon, you're a mess,' she said flatly. Theon lowered his head.

'I'm not going to leave you alone with those people, I told you I was going to be Theon, you told me you needed me, remember?' He looked her in the eye. She wore an unexpectedly pained expression.

'Theon, right now, I need you to heal, and I think you have done quite enough already,' she replied softly. Theon sagged slightly. The truth was, he was scared. He loathed closing his eyes and surrendering himself to his dreams, his nightmares. He was afraid, if Asha was gone, he would wake, and he wouldn't be...Theon, anymore. Or he wouldn't wake. He would be trapped in the Dreadfort forever, screaming, listening to _him_ laugh, because... Ramsay was dead, when he was awake. But when he went to sleep, he lived. His ghost haunted, and reigned. 

He also detested the thought of Asha leaving to treat with murderers on her own.

He hated every time she left him, he died a little bit more. Theon cursed himself everyday for not leaving with her the first time, to abandon Winterfell, the castle he couldn't keep. When she came back for him the second time, he had already died. He had a vague memory of her dragging him from his cage in the kennels, but...He didn't really believe it was her. He had been certain she was a game, another cruel trick devised by Ramsay to test his loyalty. Then she had left again, and he had died a little bit more, plummeted into his new, shameful identity. It wasn't until Sansa arrived that he began to resurface, like a drowned man clawing from the waves, plucking at memories too painful to remember.

Then he had jumped. He had grabbed Sansa's hand, and leapt into the snow to become someone new entirely, and he didn't even know what that was yet.

Then he had left Sansa, and it had been difficult. Much too difficult, he didn't want to leave her, but he knew it had to be done. He was of no use to her, Jon would have gladly executed him, and it would have been justice. But he needed to go 'home'. 

 _Home._ Theon didn't know what that was like, to have a home, to be where he  _belonged._  

But he went 'home' because he needed to find Asha. He needed to find her after refusing her twice, he needed to  _help_ her. He had to do something right, for all the many wrongs he had done. He needed to.

Now, Asha was about to leave him again, and he could not let that happen.  _What if she never comes back? What if she is murdered, or worse? No._

'Asha, please...' he moved towards her, and sat beside her on the bed, perched on the edge. He placed a bandaged hand on her arm. 'Please, don't leave me here. Please, let me help, let me come, I can't let you go there alone.' 

Asha sighed _._  'Theon, I won't be alone, I'll be with the Queen, and the imp, and even the stony faced Unsullied soldier, though, the cup bearer girl is staying, what's her name, Missandei, I think. I won't be gone for long, just a few days, and then I will return.'

Theon shook his head.

'Asha...I don't matter. If anything happens to me, it does not matter, but if anything happens to you...If I could have done something to prevent it, or at least save you, but instead I was left on the ship, I...' he swallowed, and he gazed at her intently. 'I would rather be dead. I should never,  _never_ live while you die.  _Never,'_ he paused, and smiled weakly, 'besides, I might be of use, you never know.' 

Asha bit her lip, and sighed exasperatedly.

' _Fine,_ but only because I'm worried about you, and I would like to keep a sharp eye on you, and you're an idiot,' she snapped, though Theon noticed a small smile on her lips. She rose from the mattress, and Theon followed suite.

'Come on, then, we've got to go to Sunspear, arsehole.' She flung open the door, and, together, they walked to the deck, Theon's bandages tight beneath his tunic. They packed Theon's bandages and medical supplies on one of the carts, and then, Danaerys, Asha, Theon, Tyrion, and Grey Worm stood on the docks of Dorne, waiting, as a group of horses advanced from the distance.

The heat formed a haze on the horizon, and the horses approached in a cloud of dust and sand. The riders dismounted, and the leader stooped to one knee in front of them, removing the cloth from his face.

'Queen Danaerys of the House Targaryen,' he addressed, 'we are pleased to escort you to Sunspear, where princess Ellaria and Lady Olenna Tyrell await.' Danaerys nodded.

'Rise, my friend,' she said courteously. He hastily rose to his feet, and a large group of horses bearing no riders approached. Danaerys chose a white, gentle stallion, while Tyrion mounted a pony specifically brought for him, the soldier said, to the chorus of laughter from a few men in the rear. Tyrion took it in stride, and mounted his brown filly with a regal tilt to his head. Grey Worm climbed onto a calm, grey mare, while Asha eagerly chose a black, spirited stallion. Theon was at a loss. He knew he could not ride, he cringed at the mere thought, his new wounds were still healing slowly. Asha seemed to realize his discomfort, and stubbornly grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards her horse. 

'Asha-?'

'Come on, you can ride like a lady in front of me, you know, both your legs dangling over one side, then it shouldn't hurt so much,' she insisted, mounting. Theon felt his cheeks flush slightly, but, the pride and dignity he used to have had long ago been torn, burned, and flayed out of him. She helped him mount shakily in front, and his legs dangled over the left side. He clenched his fist in the horse's mane for support, and Asha held the reigns around him. Theon heard a loud bark of laughter, and he raised his head to see one of the Dornish soldiers muttering to his friend, while glancing at him. His friend stared at Theon, sitting like a lady with skirts, and laughed. Theon bit his tongue.

 _Let them laugh._ When you knew the kiss of a flaying knife, a laugh lost all its power to hurt you. 

_And it wasn't as if he didn't deserve it..._

Theon saw Asha's eyes flick to the chuckling soldiers, which had grown to the majority, and she kicked the horse into motion. Theon winced slightly at the jostle, and he cringed as Asha advanced towards the sniggering soldiers.

'You want to say something to my brother?' she snapped. They looked at her, and laughed harder.

'He your brother?' one of them asked with a thick, Dornish accent, pointing at Theon. He laughed again, 'he your sister.' Another chorus of uproars rang in Theon's ears, but he lowered his head.

'Asha, it doesn't matter,' he said quietly, 'come on.' Asha reluctantly nudged the horse's flank with her boot. She shot them a steel glare, and, even they had the sense back away, and let her pass. The rest of the ride was spent in tense silence, and Theon's mind kept unwillingly travelling to the last time they shared a horse. He shuddered, and, unfortunately, Asha noticed.

'Theon, what's wrong?' she asked, 'if it's the soldiers-'

'No, no,' said Theon quickly, 'no, it's, um, well...the last time we shared a-a horse...' he lowered his gaze, and felt a flush creep into his pale cheeks. Then he heard Asha laugh. He glanced up at her, confused.

'What?' She only laughed harder, doubling over.

'Theon...' she sighed, smiling, then she quickly composed herself.

'It's not amusing, I'm sorry, I feel terrible about it,' said Theon seriously. Asha bit her lip.

'Theon, I think it was a bit wicked of me to do that, honestly,' she replied. Theon's brow furrowed.

'You...you said your name was Esgred, but, that's not right, you're Asha. Your name is Asha,' he said it as though he was trying to cling to it, a raft in the sea after a storm. Asha softened.

'Yes...yes that's right, Theon,' she replied.

'Theon...you have to know your name,' he said quietly, staring vaguely at the road ahead. 

_You had to know your name. That was important._

~

They reached Sunspear early in the afternoon, and they collectively were ushered into the large, looming castle. Asha had helped him dismount, and he walked slightly wearily, his body aching from the ride, his wounds flaring. He silently followed Asha into the grand room, the ceiling high, the decorations ornate.  _Very unlike Pyke._

A man with a smooth, bald head and a slippery smile rose as they entered, and as they approached, Theon caught a strong sent of lilac. Another woman with dark hair and a lazy, bored expression sat lounged in the largest, more comfortable seat, while three girls sat around her on various poufs and rugs. An old lady dressed in black did not rise to greet them, but stared at them from her chair, her eyes lingering on Danaerys and Tyrion, before shifting to Asha, Theon, and Grey Worm. 

'Welcome, My Queen, it is an honour at last,' said the bald man, bowing graciously, 'Lord Varys, humbly at your service.' The Queen nodded, and took a seat next to him. Grey Worm merely stood by the door, still as stone, and Asha pulled Theon onto a couch between the Queen and one of the glowering girls.  

Theon found himself attempting to shrink into the couch so as not to be noticed, which was difficult, as the girl sitting on a small pouf on his left seemed to be constantly staring at him with curiosity and contempt. 

Lord Varys addressed each of the visitors in turn, while introducing the occupants of the room.

'Your Grace will be pleased to meet Lady Olenna of the House Tyrell,' he gestured with a soft hand to old woman sitting straight backed in her chair as though she owned the castle, her eyes holding a steely gaze, though Theon could see a hint of mischief and amusement laced in her expression. This was not a woman to be messed with, Theon was certain. Danaerys nodded, smiling.

'Yes, it's a pleasure, I'm sure, to be acquainted to such a doddering old woman as me,' Olenna drawled, smiling slightly. Danaerys didn't know how to reply, but Lady Olenna was not finished.

'Don't worry dear, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you, the royalty from afar, come to reclaim her uncomfortable chair, and just as we were in need of one too, Cersei is hardly a ruler, I'm sure you'll do quite nicely if you are nothing like your grandfather.'

There was a deep, profound silence, only punctured by Lady Olenna's casual flick of the wrist.

'Oh, don't mind me, continue with the damned introductions if you really must, Varys,' she sighed, adjusting herself in her chair. The Queen smiled faintly. Lord Varys hesitated for a moment before continuing.

'Of course, my lady,' he said smoothly, 'this is Princess, now, though I believe it is a self established title, Ellaria Sand, and these are the Sandsnakes, I believe they call themselves, the illegitimate children of the late Oberyn Martell.' Ellaria briefly nodded to the Queen. 'Obara,' the oldest, voiced her name when Lord Varys failed to do so. She sat crosslegged on the ground on a plush carpet, while the one next to her sitting beside Ellaria smirked. 'Nymeria,' she announced haughtily. The youngest one, on Theon's left next to Ellaria, lifted her chin regally. 'Tyene,' she said, giving Theon a sideways glance. He ignored it. He already was beginning to feel ill and drowsy with the heat.

'Of course, I'm sure,' Varys slipped a silky smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He gestured to Tyrion, who sat reluctantly between the Lady Olenna Tyrell, and the glaring Obara Sand. He adjusted himself uncomfortably in his chair. 'Tyrion Lannister, my little friend, and I do congratulate you on the badge you have acquired.' Lady Olenna seemed intrigued.

'Tyrion, yes, tell me, how did you manage to escape? And now, to find yourself the Hand of the next Queen after murdering your father, and slipping away, how very intriguing, we were quite concerned,' she smiled devilishly. Tyrion blinked.

'Yes, well...' he cleared his throat, 'I did not kill Joffrey, that was a false accusation-'

'But you murdered your father,' said Olenna flatly. Tyrion seemed to squirm slightly under her piercing gaze. Lady Olenna relaxed.

'Yes, well, I did murder your evil little nephew, so I suppose we're even, wouldn't you say?' she said amiably, reaching for a cup of wine at her side. Tyrion stared at her, mouth agape.

'You...you murdered Joffrey?' Anger flashed across his face, 'you're the reason I was to be executed by my own father? The reason I was forced to flee to Meereen?' Olenna shrugged.

'Well, it seems to have been an excellent course, Meereen has never fared you better, look at you! The Hand of the Queen, I dare say it was all better than staying with that little monster alive and breathing to torture my lovely granddaughter, he seemed to enjoy humiliating you, as I recall.' She made a small scoffing noise and took a sip of wine. Tyrion clutched the arms of his chair, his knuckles white, the skin pulled taut. Varys cleared his throat primly.

'May I introduce the Lady Asha of House Greyjoy-'

'Queen now, if you don't mind,' she interjected, smirking. Varys smiled, and bowed his head.

'Of course, Your Grace, you defeated your uncle Euron most valiantly in battle on the seas, and have now declared yourself Queen of the Iron Islands, oh, and I see you did bring along your little brother, Theon Greyjoy, how lovely,' Varys acknowledged him, and Theon lowered his gaze, wishing for the couch to devour him. 'Yes, I know all about you,' he added. Lady Olenna looked up to see him.

'Oh my, you do look like a ghost, give him some wine,' she leaned across, and shoved the flagon and a cup into Asha's hands. She stared at them for a moment, before pouring Theon a glass. He took it reluctantly, shakily. Olenna tittered.

'Oh my, bandaged hands, what have you been doing?' she said as though scolding a child. Theon bit his lip. Then a wave of recollection seemed to pass over her face.

'Oh, yes, I did hear of you,' she said eventually, 'Theon Greyjoy? Hmm, yes, you were the one who sacked Winterfell, the seat of the Starks, wasn't it? Killed the two boys, oh, aren't we a room full of murderers, how exciting,' she said dryly. Theon shivered under her accusing gaze, and drew himself, if possible, even further into the cushions. Asha matched the woman's eyes.

'He didn't kill the Stark boys,' she said, 'he's paid for his crimes.'

'Oh, has he? I'm glad I can't say the same, he looks like a bloody skeleton, what have you been doing to him? His face is a decorated with those most intriguing bruises, and cuts.' She reached for her wine once more.

'He was tortured by our uncle,' Asha said, raising her chin, 'to help us gain his fleet and destroy him. Before that, he was tortured for a...few years by Ramsay Bolton after he lost Winterfell.' Lady Olenna seemed to gaze at Theon with newfound interest. Theon stared resolutely at his cup, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

'Really? Hmm, well, that does sound unfortunate, it doesn't seem to have done him any good, to say the very least,' she said. Danaerys cleared her throat.

'I would like to speak of strategy, and I am very pleased of our alliance-'

'My dear, spare us, you need only our ships, men, and provisions. You have dragons, don't you? I believe the strategy will be very brief, I can assure you. I think you need us now to have a lesson in politics,' Lady Olenna interjected.

'Where is my niece?' Tyrion asked suddenly, rising in his chair, 'I should like to see her, I know she is in Sunspear, I sent her myself, but I did...hear of the unfortunate incident with Trystane and Doran, but no one has seemed fit to tell me the rest of it.' He glared pointedly at Ellaria, smirked, and shrugged.

'I don't know why I allow a Lannister under this roof, Oberyn was your champion,' she said, 'but, your niece, well...' she chuckled softly, and Tyrion leapt to his feet.

'She's a darling girl, what have you done to her?' he snapped. Nymeria stood, towering over him, and grinned maliciously.

'We killed her, or at least Ellaria did,' she replied casually. Tyrion stared at her, his face draining of colour.

'Why would...how could you?' his voice was hollow and distant. Nymeria frowned.

'To avenge Oberyn's death,' she replied, 'Lannisters are the reason-'

'She was a child!' Tyrion cried, backing away, 'a child, who had nothing to do with Oberyn's death.' He turned to the Queen abruptly.

'Your...your grace, may I be excused, I have no wish to converse with these people,' he gestured vaguely at the assorted Sandsnakes and Ellaria. Danaerys hesitated, before nodding.

'I may need you...' she replied quietly, 'but of course I will not force you to stay.'

'Explore the Water Gardens, they are truly dreadful,' Lady Olenna advised. Tyrion stormed from the castle, and Theon looked after his receding form, his heart heavy. Nymeria grinned, and took her seat once more.

'Oh, do wipe that horrid grin off your face, you beastly girl,' said Lady Olenna curtly, refilling her glass. Nymeria's smile fell, to Theon's slight satisfaction.

'Her death was necessary, revenge for our father-' she said, glaring.

'Oh, yes, she must pay for a little accident your father suffered in King's Landing while she was half a world away, don't interrupt me,' she snapped as Nymeria opened her mouth. She shut it again with a look of fury.

'The Lannisters are the reason our father is dead,' Tyene cried indignantly beside Theon. Olenna waved a silencing hand at her.

'Oh, do be quiet, you're voice is quite irritating, anything from you, ugly little boy?' she pointed at Obara, who opened her mouth angrily, 'no? Good,' Olenna snapped firmly. Then she turned abruptly to Danaerys, 'so, my dear, politics. Oh my, how horribly confusing of a world you have entered.'

The conversation wore on with the Sandsnakes sitting, simmering with rage, Ellaria sat with a bored expression, and Lady Olenna conversed at great length with Danaerys, and even Asha and Varys. Theon stayed silent, he found the heat was getting to him, shifting through his mind. The bandages encasing him under his tunic were much to tight and pressing, his wounds flared dully with pain, and his hands ached as they held the cup. He eventually set it down on the floor, never having taken a sip, and Tyene snatched it greedily, smirking at him.

'Can't hold your drink?' she taunted, downing the cup. Theon didn't reply, not eager in the slightest to share a conversation with her. The heat swirled, and he clutched the edge of the seat for support. His breath began to slightly quicken. 

'What's wrong? Entranced by my beauty?' Tyene smiled lustily, and slid herself closer. Theon avoided her gaze. He wasn't really thinking about her, but more of the tightness of his bandages, and the heat...the heat...

'They say you were tortured, but I don't think you were too damaged beyond repair, I think I know what you need.' Theon was barely listening, his head was throbbing, his chest burning. Then, before he could lurch away, she slapped her hand out, and jammed it where his cock would have been.

Except it wasn't.

Theon cried out in pain, and saw red flash across his vision. Then he keeled over, and darkness swirled in front of his eyes.

He hit the floor hard.

~

'Theon! Theon, can you hear me? Theon! Theon, wake up.'

Theon opened his eyes blearily, to see Asha's face shoved in front of him, staring at him, concerned. Theon immediately became aware of the pain. He groaned. The heat was suffocating, and he felt under his shirt to rip off the bandages, to breathe, but he found they were slick, and wet with blood.

'Theon, are you alright?' Asha asked. 

'He's woken up, then, has he? Hmm,' Lady Olenna said dryly. Theon felt the focus of the room burning into him, worse than the heat, and he knew he had to escape, he had to get out.

'I'm...I'm fine,' Theon croaked, forcing himself onto his elbows, ignoring the roar of pain this induced. 'I...I need to get up, get some air...' Asha nodded, and helped him to a stand.

Tyene stared at him as though he was a monster, her face paled.

'He's a-he's a eunuch!' she cried, pointing accusingly, 'he's got no-'

'Shut up!' Asha snapped angrily. Theon smiled weakly, gratefully.

'He's a-a-a...' Tyene stammered.

'Oh, he's not the only one, dear, you can be sure of that,' said Lord Varys smoothly, his eyes flickering dangerously.

'I...I need air, please,' Theon mumbled, and staggered from the room, pain flaring with each step. He grimaced, and breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the doors, wrenched them open, and felt a cool, evening breeze on his face. He stumbled down the steps, and soon found himself in a large garden, the faint sound of water trickling flowing gently through the air. He walked for a ways, and soon found Tyrion, a nearly empty flagon of wine hanging limply in his hand, a cup in the other, as he sat, staring glassily, in a chair. Theon approached, and leaned heavily against a tree. Tyrion looked up.

'Greyjoy...' he said, then chuckled weakly. Theon wagered the flagon in his hand had not been his first. 'Greyjoy...what're...what're you doing here?' he slurred, lifting his empty cup to his lips. He seemed to realize it was empty, and stared at it accusingly for a few moments, before tipping more wine into it. Theon looked at his dreadful, pitiful state, and felt a pang of guilt. He remembered Myrcella, a sweet, smiling girl who slipped herself easily in with Septa Mordane and Sansa. He couldn't imagine... The girl told him, and smirked.

'I'm sorry, about your niece,' Theon said quietly. Tyrion stared at him blearily, then lifted his glass to him.

'She's a...she was a good girl, a sweet girl...' Tyrion coughed, tears welling in his eyes, and soon, he slumped, allowing his wine to slip from his fingers, to spill, and shatter on the floor. Theon stared wanly, and felt himself slide to the ground, his strength giving out.

They were both broken, in ways, Theon thought. Then he chuckled slightly.

At least they knew their names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and next chapter will be out soon!


	8. I Won't Let You Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Sorry, a larger break between this one and the last one, but I got a little sidetracked. I hope you like this one anyway, and thanks for reading! Also, I'm extremely nervous about what I wrote in this chapter, I don't think it was very good, I sort of wince when I read it, but oh well, I hope you enjoy it anyway. 
> 
> This is a Tyrion POV.

Tyrion's eyes flickered slowly, and he immediately became aware of the dull throbbing in his head. He groaned, and forced his eyes open. He found his head was slumped at an uncomfortable angle against his shoulder, and he had fallen asleep in a chair. He tentatively rose his head, moaning at the ache in his neck, and slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was outside, he realized, a soft breeze tickling his temple, the first light of dawn only just beginning to peek from the horizon, staining the dark, night sky. He found an acrid taste on his tongue, and looked down to see a mass of shattered glass. Oh, he remembered the wine. He winced.

He remembered his niece.

 _I sent her to Dorne. I killed her just as much as they did._ A tear welled in his eye at the thought, and he wished to send it away, far away, with another cup of wine. He blinked in the slowly waning darkness, and soon his eyes fell on Theon, slumped on the ground against a tree, his eyes shut, his face deathly pale. He frowned. What in the seven hells was he doing out here? He didn't remember him...

A sluggish memory slowly surfaced to the front of his mind, and he vaguely recalled the boy, walking towards him, saying something, what was it... Tyrion's brow furrowed in concentration.

_I'm sorry about your niece._

Tyrion blinked. That was it, he remembered now. Theon had briefly met Myrcella, at one time, not entirely properly of course, but he had clapped eyes on her when they came for their visit in Winterfell.  _Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen. The first a monster, the others sweetlings, young, innocent, and dead._

Cersei had no children, no one to keep her from herself, no one for her to care for, to love.

 _Jaime._ The thought passed him briefly, and was immediately discarded. The stories spread far and wide of the burning of the Sept, the Mad Queen Cersei. Tyrion doubted, doubted it strongly from the very depths of his bones, that Jaime was eager to service and love the monster their loving sister had now become, without any children to save her. Save her from herself. 

_They were Jaime's children as well._

Tyrion had murdered their mother, their father, accused of murdering their son, and now, he had killed their daughter. He thought it was clever, a clever move to send her to Dorne. _She'll be safe._ Tyrion buried his head in his hands, and wished the flagon on the floor was not shattered, and still filled with wine. 

'What a lovely place, simply enchanting, I find, although I dare say you have not treated it very kindly.' Tyrion raised his head, and saw Varys, outlined by the weak light of dawn, standing before him, a faint smile on his lips. Tyrion narrowed his eyes. He must have known, he would have known, wouldn't he? His little birds would undoubtedly have told him. A dull rage boiled inside him, and he clenched his hands into fists.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he hissed through clenched teeth, 'all the times we spoke, not once did you mention I had lost my niece.' Varys frowned.

'Oh, don't blame me, my friend, I was simply trying to protect you. I knew grief wouldn't help you at all during the havoc encircling Meereen, and the Queen needed your wits not smothered by spirits,' he replied calmly, seriously, while glancing pointedly at the smashed flagon at his feet. Tyrion lurched to a stand, then staggered backwards, his head heavy from the wine.

'You should have told me,' he said angrily, 'Myrcella was-'

'A sweet and beautiful girl, yes, and I am sorry, my friend, most terribly sorry, but the Queen cannot afford to have you drowned in wine,' Varys advanced quietly, his feet treading soundlessly, his face displaying sympathy and a touch of urgency. 'She needed you, in the castle, needed her Hand to guide her. You must-'

'Forget about my niece?' Tyrion snapped, 'forget it was my fault she died? I sent her away! I sent her here, into the-the serpent's jaws! Oberyn was my champion, my...fault...' Tyrion sagged, and slumped back into the chair, biting his lip to keep it from trembling. There was a brief silence.

'Oberyn was arrogant,' Varys said quietly, 'he drank before his fight, he relaxed. You believed sending Myrcella away was the right choice, and, frankly, I believe it was, at the time, until these women took it upon themselves to exact revenge on a little girl for a tragedy that occurred half a world away. Do not blame yourself, blame those who decided to harm a child.'

Tyrion sighed. He knew he was right, gods did he hate it when he was right. He needed to be the Hand, he needed to use his mind, keep his wits, but he knew, deep in his bones, he had murdered Myrcella. Tyrion groaned, and rubbed his aching temple. Varys watched calmly, and slowly his eyes fell on Theon's sleeping form. He shook his head, and made a small noise between his teeth.

'Ah, our poor ironborn friend. One of the girls tried to grab his cock,' said Varys vaguely. Tyrion straightened in his seat, startled.

'What?'

'Unfortunately, it became evident he did not possess one, and he proceeded to fall unconscious on the floor.'

Tyrion's brow furrowed, and he squinted at Varys. 'Did you know...before that he was like...you?' he asked tentatively. Varys seemed unperturbed. He nodded.

'Oh, yes, I knew, word travelled like the wind, the Ironborn Prince unfit to rule. He supported his sister, you know, at one of those Kingsmoots they hold in the dispute of the line of succession. Apparently, it was flying their way, until their uncle stepped in and promised the lot of them dragons,' Varys replied. Tyrion stared at Theon, who's chest rose and fell gently with each breath. It seemed to be pained, though, forced. Difficult. He looked at Varys.

'He fell?' Tyrion allowed himself a small moment to shudder at the thought of the girl...He cringed. 'He's unwell, not healed completely, he could have bled through again.' Tyrion rose shakily to his feet, and forced himself to kneel in front of the boy. Varys looked on with mild interest.

'Word also travelled you had a great disliking for the boy,' he said. Up close, Theon reminded Tyrion vividly of a corpse, or a ghost. If it weren't for his shallow breath, Tyrion would have thought him dead. His face was thin, starved, his face hallowed, his skin pallid, the deep cut on his cheek still vivid in the growing light of dawn. His lips were cracked and dry, but he looked most peaceful as he lay, his eyes closed, his expression relaxed. Tyrion came to loathe what he saw in Theon's eyes. It was too...painful. Sometimes they were dead, and haunted, others they were frightened, but sometimes, occasionally, Tyrion would catch a glimmer of light. These moments, although he would never admit it, he quietly, privately, slightly cherished. Tyrion looked at the shadows in Theon's face, too long and dark, even in his sleep. 

'He is not a boy,' Tyrion found himself saying. 

Tyrion reached out to touch his forehead, and found it clammy and burning. Tyrion quickly pulled away, and moved his hands to Theon's torso. He gently touched his tunic, and lifted it up. He sucked in his breath sharply. 

Theon's bandages were soaked through, wet and seeping in some places, but mostly crusted, and dirty. He sighed. They should have never let him get on that cursed dory, never should have allowed him to go. Tyrion should have used his wits, come up with a plan, a strategy, something. He was supposed to be the Queen's Hand, her most trusted advisor, wasn't he? And he had left her, with those snakes and that grandmother, rather than help her when she needed him. He was not going to fail her again. He was not going to fail anyone again. He had failed Myrcella, his brother, Theon, the Queen, himself, more times than he could count. 

_Not again._

Tyrion tried to wake Theon, he slapped gently at his face, tugged at his clothes, jostled his shoulders. He wouldn't open his eyes, and a faint fear began to blossom in the pit of his stomach. 

'Varys, help me...' he looked up, and found the Spider had gone.  _Probably to spin another web,_ Tyrion thought darkly. He was meanwhile thickly bound in the previous one. Tyrion sighed in exasperation.

'Come on, Greyjoy, get up,' he muttered. He would never be able to help him to his feet, regardless of how thin he was. 'Theon!' he drew a hand across his face slightly harder than he intended, and finally, Theon's eyes fluttered open with a wince. He immediately gasped, no doubt from the pain in his body, and he stared blearily at Tyrion. 

'Lannister?' he murmured, shifting slightly. Tyrion nodded, and proffered a hand. 

'On your feet, Greyjoy, we need to change your bandages,' he said, intensely aware of the kindness in his voice. Not too long ago, he would have only spoken to the Greyjoy with contempt.

Theon was severely pale, and his eyes didn't seem to be focusing properly. Tyrion tried to grab his arm around his shoulders, but it did not work to much effect. Theon slumped back, exhausted, in pain. Tyrion groaned in exasperation. Here he was, trying to get the Greyjoy boy, who he had no trouble despising, on his feet, lest he faint from the loss of blood. Why did he have to care? Theon had murdered children, had he decided to forgive him? Tyrion shook his head.

'You're a fool, Lannister,' he muttered to himself, breaking into a manic grin.

'I do not believe we are the only ones to agree.' Tyrion stiffened at the sneering remark, and slowly turned, still clinging to Theon's arm. He groaned inwardly.

The three Sandsnakes, he vaguely believed they were called, were standing in a loose triangle around them. The one directly in front of him, who seemed to be inspecting the assortment of shattered glass on the floor, smiled smugly, and Tyrion wagered it was her who had spoken. What was her name? Nym...Nymeriel, or...Tyrion immediately found he did not care. She seemed to be the second oldest.

'Ah,' he said calmly, aware of his undignified crouched position. Tyrion's eyes swivelled to the whip at the girl's hip. One of the other two, he saw as he glanced around, carried daggers, and the other a long, pointed spear, similar to the one Oberyn carried, Tyrion recalled. He turned back to the smirking one, a dull anger in his chest.

'And what do you hope to achieve with your most intriguing weapons, bastard?' he said, feigning a smile. The girl scowled, her smirk falling. Her hand went to her whip.

'Watch yourself, imp,' she snapped. Tyrion rose his brow.

'No, honestly, what do you intend? To murder the Hand of the Queen?' He shook his head, 'oh dear, I don't believe that would bode well for you. What must you have against us, to be so willing to attack? It should be me with a knife at your pretty neck, not you to mine.' He spoke casually, calmly, but his eyes did not smile.

'You're a Lannister, that's enough. Ellaria was foolish to ever allow a Lannister under this roof, in our gardens, especially a monster such as you,' she sneered, glaring. Tyrion shrugged.

'Oh, a monster, am I? As you stand before me, the murderers of an innocent girl, your own cousin and, oh dear, uncle too, I believe. Kinslayers, murderers...' Tyrion shook his head, 'for Oberyn? Yes, yes I imagine Oberyn wished profoundly with all his heart for you to murder his brother and nephew, to extinguish his house, and leave it with nothing but...' he hesitated, grimacing, 'leave it with nothing at all, really, but the killers of his family. I'm sure he's very proud.'

The girl's face darkened, she scowled at him, her eyes simmering. She clutched her whip tightly, her knuckles turning white. Tyrion smiled.

'I ask you again, what to you propose to do? Oh, please do try something, you are quite useless, I'm sure her Grace Daenerys will not be too ill at ease to set her dragons on you, I heard they have a liking for humans.' His grin widened, and he felt Theon stir faintly beside him.

'Lannister...' he groaned, his eyes flickering. Tyrion heard a chuckle.

'It seems you are not the only monster,' said the girl, her smirk returning. 'You may be of slight importance, but I doubt the tortured eunuch is. We were never going to kill you, oh no, no, just, perhaps just give you a scrape, a little taste, but he...or not,' she laughed unpleasantly, 'he must pay for humiliating my darling sister Tyene.' She began to advance threateningly, then pulled on a mock frown. 'Don't worry, we won't kill, we just want to play. Life has...' she flashed a smile, 'been rather dull lately.' Tyrion looked over to the youngest one who she seemed to have addressed.

'Let me have him, please,' she pouted, a devilish grin spreading on her face. Tyrion stared.

'This is madness, complete madness,' he shook his head at their impossible idiocy. They were about to cause a rift in their alliance, because they felt they needed amusement? How could they honestly, sincerely believe Ellaria would possess enough power to protect them after their little incident, from the wrath of the Queen? Daenerys would never tolerate such characters, they would risk themselves in their games. Perhaps, however, if both he and Theon were dead, no one would be the wiser to suspect them, but, honestly, they said they wouldn't kill him. Tyrion felt an overwhelming urge to bury his head in his hands. He did not remember the last time he had encountered such thin minds. Perhaps Janos Slynt, he thought vaguely.

Theon seemed to be slightly confused, and he took in the surrounding Sandsnakes with a creased brow. Then the situation dawned on him, although he seemed to be very quick to acknowledge when one was intent on harming him. With Tyrion's proffered help, he managed to stagger to a stand while slumped heavily against the tree. He cried out, and held a hand to his torso. Tyrion looked down, and grimaced. It seemed he had bled through his trousers as well, although, not as badly.

'Lannister...they...why?' Theon gasped. Tyrion meanwhile found himself, for a reason entirely inexplicable, standing in front of Theon, between him and the advancing snakes. He shrugged.

'They...seem to want some amusement, and to shatter our alliance, I suppose,' Tyrion replied distractedly. 'They do not want to be allied with me, for I am a Lannister, unfortunately, and they deem you as a, well...they seem to think you were...' Tyrion coughed, 'unfair to one of them, or-or unpleasant, or...' Tyrion trailed off, uncomfortable. Theon bit his lip.

'They...want to kill us, or...worse?' he asked quietly, gritting his teeth. Tyrion swallowed.

'They don't seem to see you as...of importance,' he replied haltingly. Theon, to his surprise, seemed to relax at the words. He smiled weakly.

'Then they are right. Asha wanted me to stay on the ship, but I refused. I...' he chuckled faintly, 'claimed I might be of some use. I have only been a burden to her.' He hung his head, biting his lip.

'There are rare moments when you are correct, little brother,' a smooth, soft voice called. Theon snapped his head up, and Tyrion spun around. Asha stood, weaponless, her stance proud but slack, a smirk easily spread on her face. The Sandsnakes turned towards her, sneering. The youngest, Tyene, Tyrion recalled, simply shrugged.

'We were only having fun, amusing ourselves, playing,' she said innocently. Asha took a step forward.

'My brother doesn't like games,' she said softly, 'he told me. He detests them.' She took another step, and broke into a crooked grin.

'But, I don't mind them.' Quick, she sprang into a crouch, flinging her leg out, and drew it across, tripping Tyene. She fell with a look of surprise, and Asha struck out, and snatched a dagger from the girl's slackened hand. The second girl let out a furious cry, and drew the whip from her belt. She lashed it forward, and it wrapped itself along Asha's outstretched arm. The Greyjoy meanwhile kicked Tyene savagely in the head, and closed her hand around the whip, giving it a furious tug. The girl stumbled forward, but didn't lose her grip on her weapon, and yanked it out of Asha's grasp. She gave a hiss of pain as the whip cut through her palm. Suddenly, the oldest ran forward, her spear twirling, and Asha struck her dagger out to meet it. They duelled for a time, Asha managing with the smaller weapon, cutting and backslashing, though mostly dodging thrusts. She managed to lunge forward, and cut the girl's hand. She grunted in response, but continued to fight. She thrust her spear straight at Asha's head, but she ducked, and slid her feet out to crash into her's. The Sandsnake fell, and Asha wasted no time to wrestle her spear from her fingers.

'Nymeria!' The oldest screamed from the dirt. The second girl, Nymeria presumably, lashed her whip across Asha's back, and she answered with a halfhearted thrust with the spear the girl was forced to avoid. Tyrion realized Asha wasn't fighting to kill, or harm. Merely to humiliate. He felt a small smile on his lips. Then he felt a dagger at his throat, just barely cutting the skin. His breath caught in chest.

'Call her off,' Tyrion recognized the voice of the youngest, irritating and angry, 'call her off, or I kill her brother, or you,' she paused, 'or both.'

'This is madness,' he replied calmly, 'you cannot murder us, Asha will tell. You think Ellaria will protect you? You think she will be able to?'

'Lannisters,' the girl spat, 'I will never be allied to a Lannister. Your Queen cannot touch us, she needs our ships, our alliance. Ellaria is my mother. She will always protect me.'

Tyrion felt, with a brief jolt of horror, as her wrist tightened, and moved to slash. Then he heard her yell, and the dagger fell away. He whipped around, and saw her form crumpled on the ground. Theon stood, clutching his hand, his face clouded with pain.

'You...you hit her?' Tyrion gasped, his hand flying to his throat. Theon looked up at him uncertainly. He nodded hesitatingly, his eyes shifting towards his sister, his expression pained. Tyrion immediately understood, and shot out a hand to stop him just as he moved to step forward.

'I don't think getting yourself killed will help her,' he said gently. Asha was in combat with the two eldest Sandsnakes. She was continuously fighting Nymeria's thrashing whip as she was locked with fists, weapons lying forgotten on the ground, with the oldest. Asha didn't seem to be too strained, and she was easily overpowering the girl, drawing quick blows with her fists at her chest and face. She soon had her in a headlock, her arm wrapped around the girl's neck. Asha seemed to be immensely enjoying herself. Nymeria paused in hesitation at the state of her sister. 

'Now, run along, and leave my brother alone, go lick your wounds,' Asha sneered through clenched teeth. She quickly flung the oldest into her sister, and they collided, and fell to the ground, tangled in Nymeria's whip. They struggled to their feet, pulling themselves apart, and ran to pick Tyene from the dirt. They roused her, and, together they ran from the gardens, tripping over their feet in the process.

'Bitch!' Nymeria screamed over her shoulder, before disappearing into the castle. Asha shrugged, smirked, and pocketed the dagger from the ground. They had left with the spear. Tyrion found himself sighing with relief, and only just managed to grab Theon before he sank to the ground. He fell heavily against the tree, Tyrion grasping his arm, and Asha darted forward to help him. Theon sagged against her shoulder, his remaining strength wilting, and Asha supported him, her arm around his back. A tear slid down his cheek, and he looked away from her in shame.

'I-I'm sorry, Asha, I'm sorry,' he stammered, 'I should have helped, I-I'm of no use, I should never have come, I should have listened to you-'

'Shut up, Theon,' she said quietly, a faint, wan smile on her lips. 'You need to stop getting hurt, stop...' she silenced her brother with a hand on his cheek, and she brushed away his tears. He blinked, and closed his eyes. Asha glanced at Tyrion, slightly uncertainly.

'Lannister,' she said, unsure of whether to speak with hostility or indifference. She paused, then nodded slightly. Tyrion recognized the acknowledgment, and smiled slightly in response.

'Greyjoy,' he replied. She shrugged, and moved past him, supporting Theon on her shoulder. 'If you'll excuse me, I need to tend to my foolish brother, and speak with her grace,' she said casually. Tyrion watched her go, and decided to traverse the gardens a bit before entering the castle once more. A part of him wanted, out of slight curiosity, to see if they were as atrocious as the Lady Olenna promised. 

~

Tyrion found himself in the dining hall at noon for a respectable luncheon before their sailing for Westeros. His body trembled at the thought, and he immediately dove for the pitcher of wine on the table. Regardless of what Varys said, he had a right to calm his nerves before a strenuous journey. He was carefully to take a seat between the Queen, and a pallid, exhausted, though slightly fresher looking Theon. Asha sat beside him, and Lord Varys occupied the seat next to her. Lady Olenna Tyrell lost no time in gaining a seat beside her majesty, and Ellaria Sand grudgingly took her place beside her. Then the three Sandsnakes entered. They wedged themselves between Ellaria and Varys, their dark eyes immediately flashing scowls at Tyrion, Asha, and Theon. They were promptly ignored, though their palpable anger did not escape the notice of Lady Olenna.

'Oh dear, we are in a terrible mood,' she said, breaking the momentary silence. She smacked her lips noisily on a fig, and she grinned at the discomfort she had caused. The Sandsnakes turned to Ellaria.

'They attacked us, mother,' Tyene whined, thrusting the eldest's wounded hand forward. She pointed accusingly at Asha, who continued to eat, seemingly unperturbed by the girl's accusation. Theon was hunched over his plate, but he didn't seem to be eating anything from it. Tyrion leaned forward, and snatched a small cake from one of the plates laden with food at the centre of the table. Ellaria's eyes flicked with interest towards Asha as she stuffed her mouth with grapes and pieces of orange.

'What, the woman, the eunuch, and the imp?' Lady Olenna interjected. Tyrion noticed Theon flush at the word. It was the first amount of colour Tyrion had seen in his cheeks all day. 'By the way, where is your stone faced, young soldier?' she said, turning to Daenerys.

'He wished to return to the ships early this morning,' she replied, 'there is much to do, and he wished to help his comrades. He said he had no business with discussing politics.' Lady Olenna nodded knowledgeably.

'Quite right, he seemed a most humourless fellow, is he one of those...Unsullied, aren't they called?' She said, lifting a goblet of wine to her lips. Daenerys nodded. 'Hmm, yes, what a collection of eunuchs, wouldn't you say, Varys?' she smiled as though it were a jape, chuckling slightly into her wine. Varys nodded graciously towards her.

'Yes, it's becoming...most popular,' he replied easily. Tyrion saw Theon hunch further over his plate, the colour deepening in his hollowed cheeks. Tyrion couldn't resist a smile.

'Mother-' Tyene began, angry at how easily the subject was overturned.

'Yes, dear, oh my, you were attacked by a Lannister who's niece you promptly killed, a man who you attacked while reaching for his imaginary cock, and a woman who, frankly, seems more intelligent than the lot of you. Are you surprised?' Lady Olenna interrupted exasperatedly. She reached for another fig, and smiled at the visible rage boiling in their faces. She licked her lips satisfactorily. 'Excellent figs, however, wonderful for the bowels.'

Silence greeted her statement, and Daenerys quickly cleared her throat.

'We are to sail for Westeros today,' she announced, 'I am grateful for your support and our alliance, and...' She proceeded to lean forward slightly, staring pointedly at the simmering Sandsnakes. 'Asha told me what happened. I'm afraid I will not tolerate such behaviour again. Tyrion Lannister is my Hand, my advisor, Asha Greyjoy is Queen of the Iron Islands, and Theon Greyjoy has proven himself to be a most helpful, and capable ally. He was tortured by his uncle in the act of helping us gain his fleet and save my dragons. You are of no consequence, no importance to me.' She leaned back in her chair, and calmly resumed eating. Lady Olenna seemed mildly impressed, and smiled proudly at her, tilting her glass slightly in favour. Ellaria did not seem offended, but instead smirked faintly. Tyrion did not miss the warning glare she shot the Sandsnakes, however.

Tyrion grinned into his cup.

~

Tyrion watched as Daenerys shook hands with Asha and Theon as they stood before the gangplank of their ship. The sky was a bright, pale blue, and the wind a gentle kiss on his brow. The sun sparkled off the rippling waves, and the sail of the ship bearing the Greyjoy sigil of a gold kraken billowed proudly in the wind.

Once the Queen had finished exchanging her farewells, wishes of a pleasant voyage, and a successful siege, Tyrion forced his feet forward. He and Asha exchanged a brief, terse handshake, her hold firm, but relaxed. She grinned mischievously at him, and he hastily withdrew. He then gently clasped Theon's bandaged fingers. He still seemed pale, though a small strength seemed to glow in his eyes. Tyrion found himself staring at the sight, it was most unusual. He quickly recovered himself, and withdrew.

'Pleasant...pleasant voyage, Greyjoy,' he said awkwardly. Theon nodded, and Tyrion thought he could glimpse the ghost of a smile wavering on his lips.

'And you, Lannister,' he replied courteously. Tyrion nodded, and left. There wasn't anything left to say, he felt. He caught up with the Queen's long, regal stride, and found Varys and Lady Olenna waiting by the gangplank of their ship. The Queen smiled as they approached, and exchanged a brief farewell with the Tyrell grandmother. The old woman smiled, and grasped her hand, before withdrawing.

'Have a nice siege, my dear,' she said. Then she turned her attention to Tyrion. 'And you. I suppose it will be interesting to see your sister again, won't that be fun,' she said, refraining from shaking his hand. He nodded, and she departed for her ship, with a small pat on the arm to Varys.

'Come, my Queen. It is time for you to go home,' said Varys, bowing. They climbed the gangplank, and stood at the prow of the ship, the black sail bearing the red, three headed dragon of House Targaryen dancing in the breath of the wind.

As they pulled into the sea, the waves lapping at the hull, the sun beaming brightly from above, Tyrion gazed into the horizon. He found himself glancing at Daenerys, and smiled at the sight, her stance proud, her chin lifted, a faint smile on her lips.

She looked down, and met his gaze. Her smile widened. _This is it. We're going home. With a thousand ships at our back._

They looked out to sea, to the future, to blood, death, and a throne, and Tyrion sighed.

There were worse things than going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and next chapter will be along shortly (I hope)!


	9. The Sound of Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Westeros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! I was away for two weeks in August, and then school started up again in September, and I have been virtually swamped with homework, I didn't get a chance to get back to this until now, which I am very sorry about, and I'm afraid this story has been forgotten about, but I am far from finished writing this.  
> Be prepared for huge plot twists, for I will most definitely be far from the show and the books, but I still have all the information and everything from the show and books, and I will try my best to respect every character, and handle them with care, unless I decide to kill them, which I apologize for in advance.  
> This chapter in particular will have abrupt twists, which I hope you will find intriguing. I haven't exactly been following up with the spoiled plots of season 7on the internet (I know they are there), so forgive me if I don't include them in the story, but I will try to make this story as interesting as possible, and bear with me with the abrupt plot changes. Most will not be too drastic, so have no fear. If you do not like where the story is going, please inform me at once in the comments.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this next instalment, and thanks for reading!
> 
> This is a Theon POV, a Tyrion POV, and an Asha POV, there will be a lot of jumping around, so please bear with me.

Theon gazed over the horizon, he could already spy the hazy form of the Red Keep from the decks of the rocking ship. He stood at the rail, occasionally dropping his eyes to the churning waters below. They had been sailing for merely a few days from Dorne to King's Landing, although it had seemed longer than reality. Asha had in fact uncharacteristically fussed over him during the voyage, forcing him to stay below deck, resting on a sheet. She would tend to his bandages every evening, and Theon always begged her for information of the world above. Apparently nothing much had progressed, aside from a few ravens exchanged between the ships. The Queen, the Hand, and Varys were on their own ship, sending their ideas and strategies by raven to Lady Olenna, Lady Ellaria, and Asha, each on their own separate ship. Asha would read each letter out to Theon as he lay on the floor, his hands resting by his side, while Asha sprawled across the bed he never occupied. On occasional nights, she slept in the bed, always tossing one of the blankets onto Theon's frail form. Each morning, Theon would take off the blanket and replace it on the bed, he couldn't explain the reason for it, it was simply instinct, something deep inside him, embedded.

Now, Theon stood in the breath of the wind, a pale blue sky hanging over him, overbearing, and he clutched the rail, his hands still bound in bandages. He breathed in the salt of the sea, and listened intently to the waves lapping aggressively against the hull. He was healing, he knew, he felt lighter, more energetic, and alive, and he had managed to lose a few bandages and rid himself of a few stitchings. He didn't understand the attention he earned from Asha, the way her brow creased when she removed the dressings, to expose the wounds beneath, the sensitive flesh. He remembered... Ramsay's grinning face as he would inspect the wounds he had created, every time the skin would begin to bind and heal, he would take his knife, or finger, and pry apart the tender flesh, probing, laughing...

Theon closed his eyes, the breath of the wind the gentlest kiss on his face. Ramsay continued to haunt him in his dreams, scraping his wretched knives against a wet stone. Theon began to refuse the milk of the poppy Asha kept forcing upon him. Theon had taken to staying awake as long as possible, until his eyes would close of their own accord. Then he would drown in his dreams, trapped in the depths of the Dreadfort, screaming. Theon would wake, his throat usually raw and burning, occasionally Asha would be shaking his shoulders. He loathed it when she woke him, for it meant he had been keeping her awake with his fitful nightmares. She looked terribly exhausted, and Theon loathed to be the cause. Occasionally, he would manage to go one or two days without sleeping, but he would always succumb to the overwhelming fatigue eventually.

Theon bit his lip, and watched as the shadowed figure of King's Landing gradually broadened on the horizon, gaining shape. He vaguely wondered how Lannister felt with their destination nearing. Queen Cersei was his sister, and his brother, Jaime, Theon knew, was also in the castle. Varys informed them of the information in a raven, although, their fates had not been disclosed in the letter. They would reach King's Landing in perhaps a day, and night, and with the approaching shore, a battle loomed ever present. The fate of his remaining family.

Theon mulled over the thought, his hand gripping the rail tighter with each minute. Then he felt a strong hand land on his shoulder, and he nearly leapt from his skin. He flinched in surprise, but relaxed as he saw Asha when she turned him gently around. He swallowed dryly, ashamed at his startled reaction, and she smiled coyly.

"Theon, you have got to stop leaping from the ship every time I lay a hand on you," she said, smirking, although, Theon saw a small, troubling frown in her eyes. Her smile seemed almost forced, and her touch was gentle. "Honestly, I've had to inform the entire crew to never lay a hand on you, otherwise you might plunge into the water." Theon felt a small smile tug at his lips, a ghost, but it disappeared as soon it it came. Asha, however, didn't miss it. She grabbed his face in her hands, and gazed intently into his eyes.

"I think I saw Theon there for a moment," she said, as though inspecting a ship far out to sea. She bit her lip, then leaned forward, and kissed his brow. "I've missed your smile."

They stood together, side by side, gazing across the sea, silent in each other's company. When the sun began to beat low on the horizon, the colours bleeding across the sky, reflecting off the rippling waves, Asha spoke.

"When I storm the gates of King's Landing," she began softly, haltingly, "perhaps it will be best if you..." Theon immediately knew where this was going.

"I'm not staying behind, Asha," he said. Asha sighed.

"Theon, you can't honestly believe I'll let you lay a siege and participate in combat when you're limping like an old man!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. Theon averted his eyes. Asha bit her lip.

"I can't just sit down in the cabins, while you risk your life. Asha," he said eventually. She eyed him apprehensively. "You said you wanted me to be Theon, your brother, I want to help you, let me help you."

"Theon..."

"I promised myself I would never let myself live while you died," he said quietly. "I don't deserve to be alive now. I should have died at the hands of Euron, but I'm still here. I always knew, when we set sail from Meereen, I would die in the war to come."

Asha grabbed his arm, and pulled him closer, her expression one of anger, and a touch of sadness. She gazed into his eyes.

"Theon," she said slowly, deliberately, "don't die on me. I need..." Her grip tightened. "God, Theon, you are all I have left. Rodrick, Maron, father, they're all gone. Mother is mad on Harlaw, she still believes you are a small boy, the same you were when you left the first time. Theon," she placed a hand on his cheek, "You may think you do not deserve life. You may think no one needs you, but I do. I need my little brother."

Theon felt his heart stutter in his chest, hard, and heavy. He felt tears prick at his eyes, but he managed to hold them back, and instead strengthened his expression.

"I am your brother," he said, "now and always." Asha smiled, and pulled him into a rough embrace. He tucked his chin over her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her torso.

"Please, let me help you," he whispered in her ear. Asha sighed, and pulled away.

"Very well, brother," she replied grudgingly, "you will be of use to me, but," she gazed deeply into his eyes, "if you are so intent on dying, you shall do so at sea." She smirked, and withdrew, chuckling lightly at the look of perplexity etched into Theon's face. "Little brother, I name you commander of the Iron Fleet," she said grandly, grinning. Theon's eyes widened. "Oh, but temporary commander, mind, don't let it get to your head, just while I'm off fighting on land like a kraken drowning on the shore, its various tentacles flailing about, knocking Lannister men to their knees."

"Commander of the Iron Fleet?" Theon spluttered. Asha turned, and began to stride back to her cabin. "You can thank me later," she called over her shoulder. Theon quickly followed her.

"You can't name me commander!" He exclaimed, reaching for her arm. She spun around, eyeing him. "And why not?" she asked primly. Theon vaguely gestured at himself. "Do I look like a commander to you?" he said, "do you honestly believe any Ironborn will want me as their commander? You yourself told me no one would want me-"

"As king," Asha replied quickly, "this is different. There isn't anyone I trust more than you, now, there isn't anyone I trust more than you in this entire voyage. More than half our fleet supported Euron, and were on their way here to murder us. Did you honestly believe I would choose anyone else?"

"Yes, I did," said Theon. "Asha, even Tyrion Lannister would be a better choice than me to lead the fleet, loads better, in fact. I-"

"Theon," she interjected sharply. Theon instantly fell silent. "Do you think I am a good Queen?" Theon hastily nodded. "Doesn't a good Queen make good decisions?" Theon hesitated. "If you believe I'm making a mistake, you are saying I'm not a good Queen, not good enough to make decisions, apparently, not proper-"

"I didn't say that," Theon replied quietly. "Good," said Asha, "then be the bloody commander. You wanted to help, this is how you can help. Dying on land will not be of use to anyone, least of all you."

"Asha..." Theon bit his lip, and hung his head. Asha stared at him. "What?"

"They will not follow me. You know as well as I do they will not," he said. "They didn't want to follow me when I came back to Pyke the first time. Now..." he shuffled his feet nervously, ashamed. Asha's expression softened.

"Theon..." She sighed, and patted her hand against his cheek briefly, lifting his face to match her eyes. "Rise again, harder and stronger, you hear me? What is dead may never die, and you are not dead, little brother, you are not gone. Rise." And with that, she turned, and left him to ponder at her words. 

~

Tyrion gazed up at the Dragon Queen, as she leaned over the prow, her hand inches from the gold, dragon figurehead leaning out to sea, cutting through the water like a knife slicing through butter. As King's Landing neared, the shape grey, and clouded, Tyrion's stomach continued to swell and flutter with dread. As each day passed, and the castle gradually came into view, the dark edges more defined, and clear, Tyrion felt another nail hammered into his sister's coffin. She would gladly tear off my own head, Tyrion thought miserably, she loathed me my entire life, and always wanted my death. Tyrion attempted to distract himself with the new attire Daenerys was currently showing him. He had to admit, it was intimidating. She seemed more nervous, and distracted these days, but, also with a strong stance, and a proud, determined expression more grand than he had ever seen. She was...it. She was everything.

Tyrion smiled as, for one rare moment, she twirled mockingly in her new attire, and laughed.

"What do you think?" she asked, chuckling. She wore a long, black dress, enameled with glittering, black and silver jewels that sparkled in the waning light of the sun, and embroidered with intricate designs, one a small, three headed dragon sewn in red thread over her heart. A large, sweeping red cape hung from her shoulders, clashing with the sunset. Tyrion pursed his lips.

"I think it will look even better with a crown, your Grace," he replied, chuckling. She smiled coyly, then turned her attention back to the sea, and the approaching land. She sighed.

"You understand I will not allow you to join me in combat," she said eventually. Tyrion joined her at the prow.

"I quite agree, Your Grace, combat has never been my strongest suit, although, I think you'll agree I have various other enchanting qualities," Tyrion replied. Daenerys grinned. "I'll have you stay on the ship until everything is sorted. Then, of course, once I have the Red Keep, I shall be in desperate need of your counsel." Then her smile quickly faded. "I imagined Ser Jorah would be at my side in this moment," she said quietly. Tyrion bit his lip, and eyed her apprehensively.

"I could inquire to Varys as to his whereabouts," he offered gently. Daenerys glanced at him suspiciously. "You think Varys would be able to know such a thing?" she asked. Tyrion nodded. "Oh yes," he replied, "the Spider knows everything, I can assure you." Daenerys frowned. "I...do not know if I wish to know, really," she said. "I don't wish to find he is..." she trailed off, and averted her gaze.

They stood pensively, each mulling over their own troubling thoughts, until they were unceremoniously interrupted by a raven fluttering towards them, flapping its wings furiously against the wind. It flopped onto the deck, a letter tied to its leg, bearing the golden Kraken of the Greyjoys. Tyrion bent, and retrieved the letter, unfurling it carefully, and tearing his eyes down the page.

"Asha Greyjoy wishes to fight on land, meanwhile," he announced, "hang on..." his brow furrowed, then he shook his head, smiling in disbelief. Daenerys frowned. "What?"

Tyrion sighed. "Apparently, she wishes to place her brother in charge of the Iron Fleet during her absence," he said. Daenerys seemed intrigued.

"Really? Has he much healed, is he up for the task?" she inquired lightly. Tyrion shrugged, "more importantly," he replied, "will he even be followed? We can't afford to have the Iron Fleet thrown into chaos, with no leader, and-"

"You believe Greyjoy will be a terrible leader?" She interjected. "Well," Tyrion replied, "he's not exactly well liked, or respected, for that matter, the Ironborn follow strong men-"

"Asha is a woman, Lannister," said Daenerys testily. "I only meant, what I mean to say, I didn't-" Tyrion stammered, fumbling for words. Daenerys chuckled, grabbing the letter. "If Greyjoy fails, I don't see why you can't help, after all, you will be left here, among the ships. Certainly, you will be kept far from the fray, but I don't see why you wouldn't be able to council Greyjoy on proper leadership, since you are so skilled in the matter yourself." Daenerys smirked, and folded the letter neatly in half. "Now if you'll excuse me, as I am not a strong man, I must retire to my chambers, and council myself on how to lead an army, me being a frail woman, and all, dear me, we certainly are doomed." She turned abruptly on her heel.

"Your Grace..." Tyrion faltered, as she stalked away, long silver hair flowing gracefully behind her in the wind. He sighed, and turned back to watch the approaching castle.

We are not doomed, he thought, but they are.

~

"Goodbye, little brother," Asha briefly pecked him on the cheek before lowering herself down the ladder, and into the awaiting dory below. Theon watched her go, crouching on his knees, although the position caused him to wince in pain, but he didn't rise again until they began rowing. Then he slowly, shakily rose to his feet, conscious of the eyes of the Ironborn bleeding into his back.

Shouts and screams echoed across the water, fires were lit, and a fleet of ships were bearing down on them from afar. Theon tried to disguise the obvious limp in his walk, and strode to the prow of the ship, the men's eyes following him with each step. Theon pondered on whether it would be advisable to stand on a barrel, to gain height, but immediately discarded the idea. Falling in front of his men would not earn their trust and respect, Theon wagered. He paused, then found his eyes travelling to a mound of weaponry seated on the deck to his left. Without thinking, he bent down, and let his hand find and grasp the handle of a longbow. He nearly gasped at the touch, and his heart leapt in his chest, hammering against his ribs. He raised the weapon with one hand, surprised at his strength. It was much heavier than he remembered, and his grip was made slightly more awkward by the missing finger on his left hand. Theon then reached for a quiver of arrows, and slung them across his back. He took his place in front of his men once more, and, surprisingly, he felt... a sort of strength. The bow was... familiar. The ghost of a smile brushed his lips.

I know my name, he thought.

Theon rolled back his shoulders, and addressed his men.

"An Ironborn is a king on his own ship," he said, hoping his voice wasn't quivering as much as he imagined it was, "every one of you knows the feeling, the meaning, you have all strode the decks of your ships, proud, and strong. Now you are united, a congregation of kings, strong men-"

"Aye, strong men," a gruff voice called from amid the masses, "unlike you, woman." The men burst into laughter, cackling and jeering. Theon was used to the noise, the japes, the shame. He realized, as he looked down at the bow resting in his hand, the wood rough and jagged, with a certain smoothness to the edge, he didn't care. Laughter lost all its power to hurt you, once you knew the kiss of a flaying knife. A dull anger suddenly flared in the pit of his stomach.

"Aye, I have no cock!" he announced, cutting through the laughter. It halted at this unexpected pronouncement. "Neither does Asha! Are you calling your Queen, your Ironborn Ruler, weak? If you are so ashamed to be the subjects of a woman, perhaps I should tell her Grace, the Dragon Queen!" Theon challenged the crowd. "Perhaps I should tell her you all believe one of you would do a better job, than a woman. Kings!" He scoffed, shaking his head, "The Kings are all dead! My father is dead, Euron is dead, they are all gone, and there is no one left but the Queens, who have been biding their time, waiting for all the Kings to slaughter each other. Some of you believed Euron a better choice, a stronger one. You were wrong!" His words were carrying, he realized. Their smiles had faded. "Asha showed you mercy, and you already know of her power. You don't know if you can trust me, however." He bit his lip, then laughter nearly threatened to spill from his lips.

"The last time I commanded a group of Ironmen, twenty men, in fact, they betrayed me," he said. "I know you would be glad to do the same. But, the men who handed me to Ramsay Bolton to be tortured, they met a fate worse than anything. They were flayed, and murdered, by the Boltons. Do you want to be murdered by the Lannisters?" he yelled. "Do you want to plunge into the sea and have the fish eat your eyes from their sockets because while you were standing around, fighting amongst yourselves, each wishing to be king, and wondering if I could be trusted, the Lannsiters came up behind you, and fucked you in the arse?" Theon shocked himself. He hadn't used such language in... But the sound of the waves was swelling in his ears, and the men were looking at him, and the wind was swirling, and a small decision seemed to have been passed between them, an unspoken bond.

"What is dead may never die!" he screamed, knocking an arrow to his bow. The men cried the response in unison, their fists placed over their breastplates. It was clear to them, Theon supposed. They did not wish to die.

"But rises again, harder and stronger!" Without realizing it, Theon had passed his arrow through a fire, and the end was in flames, and, without a another thought, he pulled back the string, and released.

It swerved in a perfect arc, flying over the sea, and, landed in the sail of the closest ship, setting the cloth and mast aflame. Theon couldn't believe it. He stared as the flames danced licked the distant ship. Behind him, the men roared, and drew their swords.

"What is dead may never die!"

~

Tyrion watched, every nerve shivering in his body, as Daenerys mounted the scarlet back of Drogon. The dragon seemed to stare at Tyrion with a mild form of curiosity, as one might inspect an insect before treading on the poor thing without a second thought. Tyrion eyed the dragon nervously, with a small sense of awe he couldn't control, and directed his attention to the Queen.

"Your...Grace," he said, half smiling. She seemed, tense, and a tad nervous herself, her knuckles white while clutching the spikes and scales decorating the creature's back. She tilted her chin to catch his eye, and Tyrion saw the ghost of a smile play on her lips. She straightened in her seat.

"My Hand," she replied, proud, and growing height. Tyrion grinned.

"Have a pleasant siege, Your Grace, and, try not to burn down the Red Keep while you're at it, yes?" he said. She smiled in response, then lifted her chin, a light twinkling in her eyes, and, Tyrion nearly fell backwards as the dragon leapt into the air. He turned around, and watched, staring, as the Queen flew in the sky on the back of a twisting dragon, the light of the sun sparking off its hide. Tyrion could see fire swirling from ships at sea, the waters churned with a certain malicious frenzy, and all around, the sound of screaming, dying men could be heard.

He was gazing up at the sky, at the space where the Queen had been flying, and leaning into the breath of the wind, when a hand clamped over his mouth.

Tyrion, surprised, immediately tried to wrest himself free from the mysterious attacker's grasp.

Something heavy slammed into his skull, and a dark veil shifted across his vision.

Tyrion was swallowed by the darkness.

~

"Get to the fucking gate!" Asha screamed, carving through her assailants as easily as though she was dancing. But this is a dance, she thought distractedly, and a deadly one at that. She swung her axe out to meet the Lannister soldiers, and they almost seemed to fall on her blade, although many struck against her, screaming insults at her as soon as they realized they were locked in combat with a woman. She would then proceed to put an end to their suffering.

Her men were following her, she knew, storming through the mass, cutting down the Lannisters, screaming, their great dark manes flying. Unsullied, a few Dothraki bloodriders, a few Dornish, and even the glowering Sandsnakes were forced to follow her, and take orders. If they could get to the gate, they would be able to flood through the castle, an inescapable force, and, thanks to the dwarf Lannister, they knew precisely where the Throne room was, as well as the many openings and secret gates into the castle. She sent a few men in each direction so as not to be taken by surprise. She detested surprises.

Blood splattered across her face, and stained her armour and tunic. Her axe was gradually beginning to weigh heavy in her arms, and her breath was strained and terse, but she continued to hack, and slash through the pressing mass. She buried her axe in the pale face of a man, a sickening crunch the sole response. She just had time to pry the iron from the corpse, and fling the blade up as a sword crashed down to meet it. She never looked upon her attacker's face, merely stabbed the man in the neck between where his helmet met his shoulder, with a small dagger from her belt. The man made a wretched gurgling sound, as though he was drowning, and she ripped the blade from his neck. Blood flew from the wound in pulses, and the soldier slipped to the ground. She stepped over him.

It was to her relief when they reached the gates, and the men came up behind her with a battering ram, the head of a dragon decorating the tip, the forehead ready to smash into the woodwork. Other men held a dory above their heads as arrows rained from above. Asha quickly took a place at the ram, her boots sinking into the mud, and together, they began to smash the dragon against the gate, wood splintering, and bolts loosening with each deafening clash. The dory was suspended over them, protecting them from the rocks and arrows flying from the ramparts. Asha watched as a man beside her holding the dory peeked his head out in a moment of confusion. She then saw as a rock smashed into his head, and his form disappeared from view, to crumble to the ground.

The gate was smashed off its hinges in the final blow, wood was sent flying, and bolts clattered to the ground. She rushed into the yard, immediately screaming orders, and hacking through soldiers. She knew where a secret passage was hidden to get from the dungeons to the Throne room. She instructed her men to surround the castle, and infiltrate as many corridors as possible, sweeping through to claim prisoners and weakening the interior. She grabbed one of her men, Tristifer Botley, a young man with a keen smile, although, he wasn't smiling now, by the shoulder, and commanded him to follow her. If she could get to the Throne room and capture the Queen, everything would be over, she reasoned. The village could be spared an entire sacking and pillaging if the siege was over with quickly, and the Dothraki and Ironmen did not find themselves in the village to rape and murder.

A hand clapped on her shoulder, and she spun around, thrusting her axe forward. She met the sneering, unwelcome face of one of the Sandsnake girls, perhaps it was the middle child? Asha was not certain, she hadn't taken the time to memorize their faces, she viewed that as a severe waste of her time.

"What?" she hissed at the girl, her sisters crowding behind her. The girl smiled.

"We follow you," she replied. Asha sighed in exasperation, and turned her back, Tristifer dogging her footsteps. They wanted to find riches in the castle, Asha knew immediately. Let them, she thought, I do not which for them to be in my company any more than usual. She pressed forward, eventually finding the entrance to the castle. She climbed into the murky darkness, a rotten smell filling her nostrils, nearly causing her to gag, and she grabbed a lit torch from its sconce in the wall, and trudged up the path. On the way, the passed a collection of large, dragon skulls, the bone a musty yellow, teeth hanging from the jaws like sharp, silk candles. She pushed on, and eventually found herself in an empty corridor, part of the main castle, the polished floors extending into the shadows. She barreled down the passageways, her boots loud and echoing in the infinite halls.

"You blunder like an elephant," one of the Sandsnakes called to her.

"Please don't speak, your voice is quite irritating," she replied distractedly. Usually Asha was rather light footed, and agile. She seemed to be unnerved by something, she concluded. The castle was quiet, much too quiet...

They rounded a corner, and suddenly, they encountered the great double doors to the Throne room, Asha knew instantly. The ornate designs on the wood were perfectly accurate to Tyrion's long, dreary description of them. Without a second thought, she shoved her axe against the door, bursting it open, and she ran inside, Tristifer and the Sandsnakes in tow.

They entered a vast, echoing hall, and Asha became immediately aware of the cold. It seemed to seep into her skin, and tremble along her bones like an old lover. She pushed through into the chamber, the ceiling spiralling above her, aware of the echo of her boots on the polished floor.

She walked to the very back of the room, where the thing sat.

It seemed to stare at her, the great ugly thing with heavy, bent metal twisting and splayed outwards. She could almost imagine it thinking. What horrible thoughts it would imagine.

"Hideous, isn't it?"

Asha spun around, axe raised. It wasn't a voice she recognized, it was sly, and lilting, almost a song.

"Who are you?" one of the Sandsnakes shrieked into the darkness. "Show yourself!"

Two figures emerged from the shadows, both carrying swords, Asha saw, although, one of them was left handed, and seemed slightly awkward in his grip. She held the torch higher, and shoved it into Tristifer's hands, quickly advancing towards the men, her axe raised. One of them laughed.

"Careful, now, she's fierce, this one," the right handed man called happily, swinging his sword deftly. They came into the light, and Asha saw he had brown hair, and a stained jerkin, the cloth dark, and heavy, though with a shiny nature to it. Sellsword, Asha instantly knew. She knew the type, always following the money, dressing practically, but none the less with some expense put in. They were vain, and crude creatures, but this one seemed cheerful. The other she saw the light of the torch dance playfully in his golden curls, and, a jolt of realization hit her when her eyes found the shining, gold hand placed where his right one should be.

"You're Jaime Lannister," she said, never letting her guard down. The man shrugged, and continued to advance.

"Aye, that I am," he replied lightly, although a frown seemed to be etched into his face, the kind that would never be willing to leave. Long shadows hung under his eyes. "And you're... I'm sorry, the kraken on your breastplate is very telling, but I'm afraid I cannot place your precise name, Lady Greyjoy."

"Where is the Mad Queen," she interjected. Lannister shook his head.

"She's gone, you won't find her here." He seemed sad, she realized, his voice laced with melancholy. "She had a plan she did not care to share with me, and now she is gone. I am here. I..." He averted his gaze.

"Where did she go?" Asha demanded, bewildered. Lannister smirked sadly, and shrugged. "Who knows?" he replied, "only, you won't find her here. She had a very cunning plan, my sister did..." Asha didn't lower her axe. How could the Queen Cersei be gone? How had she escaped? The Red Keep had multiple secrets hidden within, she knew, but even if she made it out of the castle, how could she think for a moment she would be safe, wherever she went?

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you, Lannister," Asha said firmly. He looked at her then, his eyes filling with a darkness and sorrow she had only glimpsed numerous times in the face of her own brother. It was a look of complete, and utter misery.

"I was coming up here to murder my sister," he replied.

The sound of a horn suddenly split through the silence, invading from the windows, screaming, filling the empty halls with a deafening, growling scream. Asha instantly knew the sound.

It was the call of the Dragonhorn.

~

Theon gripped the helm with both hands, his bow slung over his shoulder, the waves crashing, men fighting Lannister soldiers on the deck who had invaded their ship. They had survived numerous encounters, and had managed to sink four ships. The water churned and rocked the boat, and the deck was slick and wet with blood and water, he forced the wheel hard. Then, he became aware of the sound.

The call of the horn ripped through the air, and tore straight into Theon's heart, scraping his skin, burning in his ears, a deafening scream. He recognized the howl. He whipped around, bewildered, and saw, to his amazement. A large force of the Targaryen ships had broken away from the rest of the fleet. They were sailing away fast on the horizon.

Theon looked up, and saw the forms of the three dragons speeding, hurtling through the air, towards the fading ships.

He saw as the Queen, her silver hair flashing in the light of the sun, was carried away.

Theon could only watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope, I will try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible.


	10. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King's Landing finds itself without at king or a queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Finally, I'm sorry there are such huge gaps between each chapter now, but I've had to magically squeeze and conjure time on my plate to actually enjoy myself and find time to write, so just hang in there, I haven't abandoned this fic! 
> 
> By the way, I HAVEN'T KILLED RICKON, HE IS STILL ALIVE, AS WELL AS OSHA! I'm sorry, I found it much too pointless to kill Osha and Rickon right after bringing them back, geez, I'm way to soft on these characters, I do apologize.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this next one, and thanks for reading!
> 
> This is a Theon POV, and a Tyrion POV

Theon sat in the Small Council Chamber for the very first time. He was located at the end of the table, but on the side. His eyes traced the beautiful, ornate designs on the table, the mahogany and marble seeming to shimmer under his gaze. Next to him sat a Sellsword, garbed in rich, black velvet, and a dagger ever present on his belt. He seemed rather amiable, and content with the proceedings, a vacant smile on his face, although, Theon didn't miss the consistent glances he shot one of the Sandsnake girls, the one, to Theon's discomfort, who attempted to grab him when they were in Dorne, who also held a knife to Tyrion's throat, and who he hit around the head to stop her.

Tyrion Lannister. Theon grimaced, fumbling with the fingers in his gloves. He was gone, taken away, as well as the Queen Daenerys, and, incidentally, the Queen Cersei. The Lannister had managed to steal away from the castle with her various supporters, capturing a portion of the Targaryen fleet, including the one containing her brother, and the Dragonhorn. Theon had supposed Daenerys had thrown the wretched thing over the side, but she had not. Cersei had then managed to capture Daenerys, and her dragons. Theon's stomach churned at the mere thought. They had lost Daenerys, Tyrion, and the dragons. Theon didn't like to think what Cersei would do with all of them, especially, he found to his surprise, Tyrion. He didn't imagine she would keep him alive for long, from the way he had spoken of his loathing sister. Theon knew she had warranted for his death, but Tyrion had escaped to Essos. Now she finally held him in her clutches, along with their Queen, whom he also dreaded for, and the three dragons. Queen Cersei was now an unstoppable force.

Lady Olenna Tyrell sat at the head of the lengthy table, her chin propped in her hand, as she held a letter bearing the red Lannister sigil. It had arrived that very morning. In the absence of a queen, a king, or even a Hand, the supporters of Daenerys Targaryen, including the sellsword and Jaime Lannister, had gathered in the small council chamber. Theon had been surprised to be included, but, according to Varys, Asha had asked specifically for him to attend. Asha sat on Lady Olenna Tyrell's right, quickly establishing her importance in the council, while Ellaria Sand had taken her place on Lady Olenna's left. Varys sat beside her, along with the Sandsnakes travelling the rest of the length of the table, the youngest seated across from Theon. On Asha's right, Missandei and Grey Worm were seated stoically, while Jaime Lannister and the Sellsword were placed beside them, Theon seated at the end. He did not feel very welcome at the table, or even needed, though, he was slightly grateful to be present. He wanted to help the Queen and Tyrion as much as possible, in any way he could find.

There had been idle chatter ruffling gently along the table, but it immediately ceased as Lady Olenna finally broke the seal. She unfurled the letter, and the room seemed to wait with bated breath. Her eyes briefly scanned the letter, then she scoffed, and allowed it to fall, curled on the table.

'The Mad Queen Cersei has chosen to inform us of her capture of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, her unfortunate brother, and the three dragons,' she announced dryly, 'she tells us to withdraw from King's Landing, lest she murder our Queen, and burn the whole of King's Landing to the ground. She would burn her own throne...' Lady Olenna scoffed, albeit, with a tone of melancholy, and her eyes flickered to Jaime Lannister, who sat with his head down.

'Why we have a Lannister seated at this table, I shall never understand,' she said, and sighed. 'Lady Greyjoy informs me you were willing to, not only continue your established title as a Kingslayer, but to also add a further name, as a Kinslayer. I would have thrown you into the Black Cells, if it weren't for the fact you hold a large portion of the remaining Lannister army in your favour, and have seemed to force yourself into the council, whether I desire you to be here or not. Also, in these dire circumstances, I suppose we need all the help we can get. These are the words of a truly desperate woman.' She grit her teeth, and pursed his lips. Jaime didn't raise his head.

'The fact is, we do not have a plan,' Lady Olenna continued bluntly. 'We do not have enough men, or ships, for that matter. We must handle this development with the uttermost amount of care, which is to say...' she drew in a small breath, averting her eyes, 'I've sent a raven to the North, to the proclaimed King called the White Wolf, I do believe it is a ridiculous name, but I suppose his brother was the Young Wolf. I have requested his men to aid us in the war to come, which should be quite soon now, and he has agreed, on the condition, after we are finished, we send men along with him to "end the Long Night," as he put it. I have agreed with the terms.'

Silence greeted this pronouncement. Then Asha spoke.

'When did you send the letter, I imagine it shall take much too long for the northern forces to reach us,' she said smoothly. Lady Olenna shrugged surreptitiously.

'I sent it while we traversed from Dorne to King's Landing,' she replied. Asha's brow furrowed. 'I merely requested for the northern support, I hardly thought it was something I needed to bother the Queen about, and he agreed to lend a few men, on the condition he came himself, to ensure we would "keep our word", as he called it, and with dragon fire in return. Apparently they require her dragons beyond the Wall. As soon as we became aware of our current predicament, I immediately sent another letter to him requesting a much more substantial force, and he, or rather his brother who received the letter, surprisingly, agreed.'

Rickon, Theon thought. She was speaking of Rickon, Jon's brother in the North. He blinked, and felt a cold shiver slither down his spine. The boy was alive, then. Theon didn't understand how he felt about this new development. Relieved? Ecstatic? Perhaps... but mostly, Theon felt sick. He knew he was unfathomably grateful the boy was alive, that he had not perished in the cold snows of winter, but the memory was painful, and sharp, a knife twisting in his stomach. It was his own fault the boy had been in danger, forced to leave his home. 

'It will take much too long for them to arrive, Cersei could have murdered the Queen by then,' Asha pressed. 

'My dear,' Olenna answered, 'we haven't even got an idea of where Cersei has hidden herself. She has given us a bit of time. The first force he sent will be along fairly quickly now, along with the "White Wolf".

Jon was coming. Theon would have laughed, if he dared. Instead, a soft moan escaped his lips, uncontrolled, and immediately stifled, in Theon's horror. Luckily, only the sellsword beside him seemed to notice, and stole a glance at him. Theon quickly bowed his head, aware of the man's eyes on him. Theon couldn't see his expression, but he judged it to be one of amusement.

Theon never looked up, waiting patiently for the man to lose interest. Theon would have grinned, if he remembered how. The White Wolf, that was the name Snow fancied himself.

Jon was coming, Theon thought, and he will kill me.

~

Tyrion stirred, and groaned. His head throbbed painfully, and he winced, and clutched it with a hand. It was like to split open, he thought vaguely, if he wasn't careful. He blinked, and forced his eyes open. Confusion welled inside him, and he slowly took in the floor he appeared to be lying on, curled up. It was dirty, he knew immediately, the flagstones uneven, and encrusted with grime. He...he had been on a ship, Tyrion remembered, at the siege, then, someone had...hit him round the head, then...he had woken again, briefly, somewhere in the bowels of the ship, his hands bound, a gag choking him. He had blacked out again quickly after that, and now he found himself... Tyrion forced himself painfully to his knees, and immediately came to face a set of iron bars. A faint chuckle rose in his throat, which was quickly stifled with a moan of pain. He pressed his hands to his temple. This was interesting, he thought dimly. Oh, so very interesting.

He was in a dungeon. Again, he thought bitterly. Tyrion didn't understand. He had been... about to win a war. He was on a ship, gazing proudly up at the dragon queen as she flew away, thinking a new beginning was at hand, that it was all over. Then he had been...struck from behind, lost in a cloak of darkness, and now...

Tyrion cautiously rose to a stand, one hand still rubbing his head, and he leaned against the bars, straining to see. There were various torches lit up along the corridor, and, he felt a strange sense of...warmth. It was very uncommon to find warmth in a dungeon, usually they were damp, and filled with an inexplicable draft, and a dankness that crept its way beneath your skin.

Stone, ornate dragons lined the walls, twisting along the sconces holding the flickering torches, their mouths gaping, revealing crude teeth. Tyrion's brow furrowed. Could it be...he was in Dragonstone?

'I agree, it is too warm in here for filth.' The voice raked through the shadows, laced with contempt, and loathing. Tyrion knew the voice, it trembled down his spine, and burned a hole in his memory. He chuckled faintly.

'Sweet sister,' he replied faintly. Heels scraped sharply against stone, and slowly, Cersei emerged from the shadows, garbed in a long, black dress, speckled with small silver stars, her golden crown of soft curls reduced to a short, thin trim reaching to her ears. Her expression was the same, however. The same one he always saw on her when she looked at him. Her lip curled in disgust, her eyes burning with a deep hate.

'Kinslayer,' she replied softly, the words delicate on her tongue, as though they would brake, but delivered with a sharp, clipped edge.

Tyrion merely hung his head, and shook with laughter. He brandished his arms and swept them around the room. 'You chose Dragonstone as your great escape? Your place of safety? This is the seat of the Targaryens!' Then Tyrion met his sister's vacant expression, devoid of so much as a glimmer of emotion. Tyrion's smile faded. His arms fell to his sides. 'You...what did you do, then, sweet sister?'

The ghost of a smile brushed her lips. 'I have the Targaryen princess, and her dragons, as well as half her fleet, you think anyone can harm me? You are mistaken, brother, as you so often are.' She laughed lightly, humourlessly, it died as quickly as it had come. Tyrion was not smiling. He regarded his sister cautiously, a part of him reeling at what exactly she had become without her children.

'What are you planning to do to her?' he asked quietly, though certain he already knew the answer. She simply tilted her head to the side.

'I'm going to kill her, little brother, honestly, have you really become so thick?' She advanced slowly, a goblet of wine held in her right hand, the liquid rich and red, swirling precariously with each stride, threatening to spill. 'I'm going to kill your precious princess, then you. I will rain fire and kill every single last man standing who does not accept me as their queen.'

Tyrion shook his head. 'Are you mad? You will murder all of Westeros, there is not a soul in this world who wishes for your rule, you are finished, sister, they are gathering an army to destroy you as we speak.' His voice softened. 'They will kill you. You cannot win.'

Cersei scoffed. 'I have dragons, little brother. I have power. Have no fear, you will not be alive to see the world burn.' A shiver ran down Tyrion's spine, he shuddered, despite the warmth. 'Cersei-' Before he knew what he was doing, he reached through the bars, and grabbed her left wrist. He gazed intently into her eyes.

'You will die,' he said quietly, urgently. She sneered. 'You would like that, wouldn't you?' Tyrion shook his head. 'Cersei, please, you cannot-'

She wrenched her arm away violently. 'You speak as though I have a choice. I will not cower or quiver as they take me down, I will not grovel for mercy, or plead for my life, I will fight.' Her tone softened. 'Everything I loved is gone. Everything, everyone, all my golden crowns, have been taken, and destroyed. You believe I have a choice? You are mistaken. You are the Valonqar, I knew it first I saw you. You would destroy me, as you did Joffrey, my first born, and father, and mother. You are a monster who would take everything from me as you did Myrcella, sent off to Dorne to be bitten by snakes.'

Tyrion could see grief in her eyes, how hard they had become, but how broken they were beneath. Valonqar? He didn't understand.

'I will destroy you before you take the last thing that is mine,' she whispered. 'Me.'

'Cersei-'

'You've never seen my true power-'

'I see it now.' Tyrion interjected. 'I see how you will destroy yourself. I-' he swallowed, 'I am the Hand of the Queen. If you surrender now, I can persuade her grace to show you mercy-'

She laughed, chuckling, smirking. 'I don't want your mercy,' her tone darkened. 'I want what is mine. A crown.'

She left him in the darkness, smothered in the unnatural warmth. Her laughter echoed down the halls, the light of the torches casting contorted shadows. She is truly lost, Tyrion thought. The gods will have no mercy.

~

Theon strode carefully, quietly down the passageway, quietly marvelling at the various corridors branching off into infinite directions. He would chose one at random, and explore the decor, hoping he would not come across anyone, so he kept to the darkest halls. Theon Greyjoy wished to be alone, for if he was alone, no one could amuse themselves in causing him misfortunes. After the council meeting, it had been him who had made his most swift departure, before anyone else. He didn't wish to come in contact with anyone from that table, especially now.

Jon Snow was coming to King's Landing. Theon nearly wished to laugh. The Kingsmoot, the travels to Meereen, the torture at the hands of his Uncle Euron, the unpleasantries in Dorne, the siege of the Capital, he had survived it all. Now, he wagered, Jon's first act as he rode into the Red Keep, would be to take off his head in one fell swoop. It would not be Cersei's dragon fire that would kill him. Resigned to his fate, Theon had decided to spend his last days exploring, there were bound to be endless passages for him to uncover, he would walk where the old kings had, their ghosts still sweeping the floors. He walked as he had in Winterfell, for he could never sleep. There were ghosts in Winterfell, and here, he wagered, their bodies long ago rotted to bone and dust. There were ghosts, and he was one of them.

In the siege at sea, Theon had felt, for the first time in too long, the feeling of a bow in his hand, the wood smooth, his fingers stroked the feathers of the arrow. Theon had never believed he would have ever held one ever again, let alone shoot it. He had kept the bow from the battle, along with a quiver of arrows, and stashed them beneath his bed. They had given him a small room when they took the castle, allowed him his own little chamber to call his own. Theon never used the bed, the mattress he found was too soft, he merely slept on the floor, with one blanket stripped from the bed to keep himself warm in the night.

Tyrion and Daenerys were gone, taken, Theon much doubted he would ever see either again. Westeros would be doomed at the hands of the Lannister Queen. Over time, Tyrion had become... less loathing of him, Theon supposed. It had been a strange transformation, but he was grateful to it all the same. Tyrion had become less hostile, especially after he had been tortured by Euron. The Queen, Daenerys, had as well become more warm towards him, although, she was one of the few who had never been unkind. Theon could only hope neither would suffer. Daenerys had been their hope for a future. Now she was gone...

Theon paused in mid stride. He had, unwittingly, descended down a darker stair and into a more foreboding passage. Only a few torches lined the halls, and their flames were somehow weaker. Theon paused, before advancing, after all, what did he have to be frightened of? What did he have to lose? Nothing. He advanced cautiously, even his most quiet stride hindered by a constant hobble, courtesy of a few missing toes, especially in his left foot, leaving him with an awkward, unbalanced gait and a constant limp.

As he neared the end of the stairwell, and his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he slowly became aware of a collection of large shapes sitting in the hall, shrouded in darkness, but too large to miss. For the first time in much too long, Theon allowed his curiosity to take the better of him, and he cautiously neared the figures.

They were skulls, Theon soon came to realize. Large skulls, with long, pointed teeth draping from their gaping mouths. They were dragon skulls.

Intrigued, he left his ungloved right hand to brush against the bone, it was smooth beneath his touch, and he could sense the strength inside it. It felt tightly bound, and unlike to break with any heavy blow, especially any he could muster. Theon looked around himself, in the gloom, and the skulls lining the hall, and smiled. He proceeded to crawl inside the mouth of one of the larger ones, in awe of the bone surrounding him, hanging over him, the teeth crossing in front of him, protectively.

As Theon sat in the dark, trapped with his thoughts, they inexplicably shifted to Sansa.

They had regained the seat of the Starks in Winterfell, although Jon was riding down South, most likely never to return up North, as was the custom when Starks travelled South, away from their safe granite walls, although, Theon thought darkly, they didn't help the youngest Stark boys. She would be the Queen in the North, wouldn't she? Or would the entire rule be passed to her little brother Rickon, with her as an advisor? Theon doubted strongly that Rickon had remained the small boy he had been before... Theon winced, and curled in on himself, burying his head in his hands. He could only pray dearly to whichever god was listening they would be safe, the whole of the North rallied to their side, now the Boltons destroyed. Sansa was...strong. He hoped she was happy, content within her Winterfell walls, walls which had once been her home, then her prison. Now, he didn't know what she thought of her castle. Theon doubted he would ever see her again.

Footsteps and voices suddenly echoed loudly in the corridor. Theon froze, his thoughts scattering. He crouched, his heart fluttering rapidly in his chest, he was in the Dreadfort, hiding in the dank corner of his cell, praying it wasn't him, Ramsay would just pass him by, it wouldn't be him... Theon shook his head, willing to shove the memories away. The voices only grew, and it seemed as if there were only two of them. Theon didn't move, torn between making a hobbled break for it, being discovered, or staying put, risking his discovery after all. Before he had a chance to move, however, the men rounded the corner, and Theon was trapped. He crouched in the shadows. 

'Leave me be, Bronn,' one said, it sounded weary, exhausted, and annoyed. Theon instantly recognized it belonging to Jaime Lannister. Bronn, he supposed, was the Sellsword. Bronn seemed to chuckle, his laughter echoing off the walls.

'You Lannisters, all so touchy, and not just with other people...' Lannister sighed.

'That's it. You're revolting. Please leave, or I-'

'You'll what? Call your fancy guards on me? Half them owe me-'

'Please shut up,' Lannister snapped, exasperation plain in his voice.

'I'm only saying-' Theon felt a clog of dust suddenly tickle his nose. Horrified, he clamped a hand over his nose and mouth, and managed only a suppressed cough.

'No...shut up...' Lannister suddenly stopped, his tone edged with seriousness, 'there's...someone here...' Theon was intensely aware of the harsh beat of his heart in his chest, afraid it would reveal his presence, betray him. Ramsay... Ramsay loved it when his heart beat fiercely, he would grin maliciously, and press his hand his to his chest, counting the pulses. 'You're afraid, reek,' he'd whisper, then his grin would disappear, to be replaced by a deep frown, 'aren't you pleased to see your master? You should be glad, reek, you should be excited. Show me your excitement...' Theon swallowed, and shuddered. He didn't realize he had sobbed and curled in on himself, hiding his head in his knees, until he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

Theon flinched violently, and lifted his head to face the devilish smile of the sellsword. Theon was wrenched to his feet, and pulled from his hiding place.

'Well, well, what do we have here-' Lannister advanced, and Theon was shoved into the light of the torch hanging in its sconce perched on the wall. Lannister paused, his brow furrowed. Then he advanced, his eyes staring intently, boring into Theon's.

'The Greyjoy,' he said softly, then he chuckled lightly. 'That's right, you came with the Targaryen queen, you and your...sister.' Theon swallowed, and nodded hesitantly. 'That's right, you were in the Small Council Chamber, sorry, I wasn't really looking at faces, only just remembered.'

'Ser Jaime Lannister,' Theon murmered, addressing courteously.

'You...killed the Stark boys,' said Lannister faintly. 'Displayed their corpses over the walls of Winterfell, left them for the crows to peck at their eyes,' he smirked, 'I didn't know there was anyone in this world who could make me feel better about myself, but then again, I did shove one of them out a window-'

'I didn't murder the Stark boys. I-they were two farm boys-' Theon mumbled.

'You think that makes it alright-'

'No,' said Theon firmly. 'It does not.' Lannister nodded, his tongue held between his teeth. Theon's mind was racing. It was him who had crippled Bran, a Lannister, just as Lady Catelyn had thought.

'So, you were...taken by the Boltons after Winterfell? Truth be told, I can hardly remember, I was so busy being taken prisoner myself, and, you know...' Lannister held out his right golden hand. 'Getting my hand chopped off.' Theon blinked. He dimly recalled a memory of Sansa going on about Ser Jaime Lannister, one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Westeros, to Lord Stark's disapproval, and slight frown. Theon nodded.

'And you somehow managed to wriggle your way over here, how interesting.' Lannister didn't smile. 'Grant you, you seem to have lost a bit of weight from last we met, thinner now. Seems a small price to pay, but then again, I shouldn't be one to judge, I suppose, afterall, I'm the Kingslayer, and I was going to murder my sister...' Lannister bit tongue, and shook his head, with a faint chuckle.

'Could we perhaps save our nice catch up for later?' Bronn interjected, examining his fingernails. 'I'm starving-'

'You were hiding in the dragon skull, listening to us, is there a reason for that?' Jaime inquired, ignoring the sellsword. Theon shook his head slightly.

'I was-I had-I-' he breathed to steady his voice, 'I had been walking about. I saw the skulls, I...wished to sit down and not be disturbed, seemed like an unobtrusive corner, and then I heard you down the corridor, and I thought not to move...' Lannister nodded. 'Well, he replied, 'I'll not interrogate you. Nice quiet spot to... hide, I expect not everyone here is fond of you, though, the same can desperately be said of me, but, one other thing...' His left hand landed on Theon's shoulder as he moved to shuffle past him. 'My brother, Tyrion,' Lannister stared at him, 'you...did you ever, I mean...You came with the Targaryen and her hoard of savage oafs who we are trying very hard to keep from ransacking the city, as did he.' 

Theon immediately saw pain in his expression, sadness in his eyes, mostly concealed by anger. Theon swallowed. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Tyrion had...killed Lord Tywin, he had been Jaime's father as well. Without realizing it, he placed a hand on Lannister's shoulder, tentatively, and, he saw in horror it was the ome missing a finger, and some nails, the skin scarred, ungloved. It was too late to withdraw, for Lannister quickly snatched it in his left hand.

'We spoke many times... I...' Theon stammered as Jaime twisted his hand about gently, examining it. 'I...we...' Lannister's grip suddenly tightened, though not harshly. 'Tell me everything,' he demanded calmly, softly. Behind him, Bronn sighed loudly, and began to scrape the side of his boot on a dragon tooth. Theon looked at Jaime, and nodded.

Theon, slowly, slightly nervously, began to tell him everything, all their little encounters, although, glancing over some parts, especially the Dragon Horn. He told him about his first alliance meeting with Tyrion and the Queen, Tyrion's disliking of him, which gradually seemed to lessen. Theon elaborated and dove into detail of thought and emotion to Jaime's constant, incessant prodding, and demands for such. He truly did want to know everything, but only of the memories containing his brother. Theon was interrogated for every conversation he could remember having with Tyrion, every thought, every moment Tyrion was around him. Theon didn't object to anything, obviously surprising Bronn, Jaime, and even himself.

'So he...even told you about murdering our father...' Lannister said quietly once Theon had finished, and he seemed to have finally squeezed every bit of information he could. Jaime had never let go of Theon's maimed hand, and it seemed to have gone a tad numb in his grip. It appeared Lannister had even forgotten he was holding it. He suddenly seemed to realize this, and slowly released Theon's fingers.

Lannister seemed to regard Theon with a new expression he couldn't quite distinguish. Jaime then lowered his eyes.

'Um, right then...' he said. 'Thank you, Greyjoy.' The words were not spoken with hostility. Theon nodded, and turned to quietly leave once more, when Lannister spoke again.

'You...your hand...who did that, Greyjoy?' He said softly. Theon faced him once more.

'Ram-Lord Ramsay Bolton, Ser,' Theon replied quietly. He realized Bronn was staring at him too. At some point in Theon's recollections, he had ceased in his boot scraping.

'Did...did he do other things...?' Lannister's voice was very faint. Theon hesitated briefly, then nodded.

'Yes, a...number of things.' Even with Lannister's intense prodding, Theon didn't tell him everything. Jaime nodded. 'And your uncle...too?' Theon slowly nodded. Jaime lightly pursed his lips.

'Well, um... yes. I have seen for myself the cruelty of the Boltons... and that lisping bastard Vargo Hoat,' he muttered softly.

Theon nodded, and as Jaime looked away, he took it as his opportunity to leave. As soon as he rounded the corner, he quickened his pace considerably, and didn't stop until he reached the light, and breathed the air of King's Landing, how putrid it was, but he felt released, at least. 

He leaned over a window, and breathed until his heart slowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and hopefully I'll post the next chapter soon! Also, I was very nervous about the Cersei/Tyrion, Jaime/Theon, and just about all the interaction scenes, please tell how badly I failed. Also, Merry Christmas, or Seasons Greetings if you don't celebrate it.
> 
> Also, please tell me what kind of interactions you'd like to see, with all these conversions of characters happening.


	11. Wolves in the South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow, the White Wolf, arrives with his bannermen at King's Landing, prepared for negotiations, but not for unpleasant reunions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this is super late, but I told you I would return eventually, and I did! I could never abandon this fic. I hope you like it anyway, and thanks for reading! 
> 
> This is still never beta'd, so expect spelling errors, and feel free to give me feedback or tell me what you would like to see from these characters if you're unhappy.
> 
> This is a Theon POV and a Jon POV.

Theon nocked an arrow to his bow, his brow furrowed in concentration. His arms wavered ever so slightly, and his fingers trembled with the tension of the bow string pulled back.  _You'll miss,_ a treacherous, self-loathing voice whispered darkly at the back of his mind. Theon's hands were bare of their usual concealing black leather gloves, and the scars burned brightly in the light of the morning, angrily. The casts had finally been removed from his fingers, and they creaked slightly, unwilling to bend completely most days, but he wanted to try. He had to. 

Theon had refused to even look at the bow nestled snuggly and smugly under his bed. It seemed to taunt him, mock him, but he didn't want to pull it out, and discover how terribly he fared with it. He had used it at sea, but what if he could never truly use it in such a way again? It bothered him, picking away at him, until finally, that morning, he mustered the courage to kneel and extract the weapon from the dark space his mattress and the floor. 

It had been a fair week and a half since the council meeting he had attended. Theon had never joined another one, having never been expressively asked, and Asha was gracious enough to fill him in on the details, how ever meager they were. Even Asha had begun to fail to see the point in them, as they had only escalated to shouting matches mixed with conflicting opinions. No one could agree on a single strategy, and nearly everyone didn't care for each other in the chamber, each member harbouring their own grudge or anger. Theon chose to remain safely out of the way, where no one could take it upon themselves to take out their suppressed loathing and fury on him. He couldn't sleep, as haunted as he remained by his dreams, so he merely wandered the castle at night, careful to at least arm himself with a dagger, but mostly he managed to keep to the shadows, as he explored numerous new passages and alleys, quickly acquainting himself with the secrets of the Red Keep. Most days, he visited the dragon skulls in the dark tunnel, their presence strangely calming, creating a disquieting affect on his consistently wary heart.

With every day that passed, tensions were suffered, and Daenerys and Tyrion's time seemed to trickle away like the water in a Dornish river, evaporated in the unwavering heat. It seemed that everyone could only wait with bated breath for the Northern troops to arrive before making any true decisions. The White Wolf was now their only hope. 

 _And my promised, imminent death,_ Theon thought. He had left Sansa to escape him, to leave her without his useless weight to look after, and to perform a task he knew had to be done to ensure his sister was the sole heir, though a part of him had known Balon would disinherit him as soon as he glimpsed the truth of his missing appendage.  _He already did, remember? Your father refused you for a trade when Mast-Ramsay sent terms. He had already rid himself of you then._

Distracted, Theon let loose the arrow, and it whistled through the air to bury itself in a tree behind the target. Theon sucked in his breath, and dropped the bow in defeat, instantly discouraged. He was good for nothing after all, as it turned out, a fairly unsurprising statement.

_No._

Theon shook his head. This couldn't be it. Perhaps...

For one inexplicable and unfathomable reason, Theon tried again, and he nocked another arrow to the bow, eased back the string with a fluidity he didn't know he possessed, and, with barely a second thought or glance at the target, he released his grip, and the arrow wriggled and soared from his grasp, to strike the centre of the target. 

Theon blinked. The merest corner of his lip jerked slantingly, and he felt as his hands, seemingly working of their own accord, set another arrow, and launched it into the target, directly beside the first one. The next three were the same, clustered closely around the first, creating a circle. It seemed like a simple habit, a part of him waking up and stretching after a long, profound, nightmarish sleep. 

He was about to complete the circle with one final arrow, and he drew, and-

'Theon!'

Theon shuddered, and his arm jerked upwards, sending the arrow whistling high above the target to lose itself among the trees and shrubbery beyond. Theon turned abruptly, guilt suddenly washing over him. 

Asha sauntered up to him, her hips swaying as though still rocking on the deck of a ship in a storm, and she smirked devilishly at his failed shot.

'Careful, you might wound a tree,' she drawled, grinning. Theon felt a certain heat creep into his cheeks. 

As she neared, her mocking smirk suddenly faded, and she instead smiled softly as she took in Theon's decorated target. 

'I'm glad you're...' she gestured vaguely to Theon's bow, 'again.'

Theon bit his lip as it quirked upwards in appreciation. She then quickly turned her expression to a solemn frown, and she grabbed his shoulder in a sturdy grip. 

'Um,' she sighed, 'Snow has arrived with his bannermen,' she told him, 'we have to go meet with him, his army is only just coming in.' Theon felt a small coldness drift across him, and he swallowed. 

'Hey, little brother,' she said, her tone darkening. She drew him in close. 'I won't let him hurt you. You can be sure of that, but the old lady wants all of us out there to greet them, so...' she trailed off with a slight tone of expectancy. Theon sighed inwardly, but nodded in quiet submission. 

Asha slowly, but surely, lead him to the front gates down crooked roads, and broken cobbles.

~

Theon stood solidly beside Asha, his heart fluttering unpleasantly in his chest. He had unfortunately left his bow back in the training yard, along with all his arrows, an act which he now knew to be a mistake. 

Lady Olenna would be the first to greet the newcomers, along with Ellaria Sand, although, her Sandsnakes remained noticeably further in the rear, behind even Theon, which a small part of him deemed to be amusing. Lord Varys stood alongside Missandei and Grey Worm, slightly to the side, while Jaime Lannister and Bronn, the sellsword, remained a careful amount of paces back, but not quite so far as Asha and Theon. He frowned. This wasn't entirely right.

'Asha, you should be up there at the front, you're a queen,' he said suddenly. Asha looked at him as though he was certainly quite daft.

'No, this is my place,' she said firmly, 'I'm staying here, with you.'

Theon blinked at her words, as a warmth penetrated his heart.

It was immediately dashed and splintered when Lady Olenna appeared with her wrinkled, mocking smirk, and latched a gnarled hand weighted with rings on Asha's shoulder. 

'Come, dear, I'm afraid we must adjourn immediately to the Small Council Chamber, I have something I'd like to discuss with you,' she said, prying Asha away. She stole a glance backwards at Theon, and sent him the merest of warning frowns. Her message was clear.  _Get out of there._

Theon knew it was time to leave, and as Asha was sped away, he turned to disappear down an alley and escape-

A hand lashed out, and struck him in the chest. Theon stumbled backwards, and he felt as hands grabbed at him from behind, pulling his arms behind his back. A dark instinct inside him caused him to petrify, his limbs instantly stiffening, his posture immediately shrinking. He then proceeded to groan. _Bloody hell_.

'Eunuch,' one of the Sandsnakes addressed him, as her lip curled in distaste. It was the second oldest, Nymeria? Nymeriel? Something like that. Her younger sister, the one Theon remembered all too well, stood beside her. 

'What do you want?' he instantly demanded, weary more than anything else, as he halfheartedly struggled in the eldest's grasp. 

'You think you could humiliate us and escape us so easily?' Nymerielia, er, sneered, her eyes narrowing, small, glass beads of jet black glinting malevolently. 'You think you could-'

'I'm bored!' the youngest whined, her voice of a higher pitch Theon found instantly irritating. 'Can't we just gut him? Drag him round the bend? No one needs him, no one will mind! Let's just-'

'Shut up,' Nymerie snapped. Something was struggling in the deep recesses of Theon's mind. What was her name? What were their names? They had to know their names...

'I apologize for my sister's lack of finesse and sensitivity-'

'Why-why do you need to kill me?' he said, merely confused. He hadn't stolen their castle, as far as he knew.

'Let me do it,' the youngest moaned, Tyenel, Tyene? Tyana? No...

'I'm better at this sort of thing,' the other cut in.

'But I want to-'

'You're useless-'

Theon took this opportunity to stomp harshly on the oldest, Obariel-Obara's foot, and shove his elbow harshly in her chest. She grunted, her grip loosening. He twisted from her grasp, and caught her in the jaw with his fist, instantly wincing at the pain flaring in his newly mended bones. He quickly ducked as she thrust forward, attempting to grab him, and he dove forward as he scrambled to escape-

A whip lashed around his right wrist, and he was yanked backwards. He landed heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Hands grabbed at the front of his shirt, pulling him roughly to his knees. He twisted violently as they surrounded him, struggling, a fist contacting with his cheek. 

The clutching, scraping fingers suddenly fell away, and Theon fell forward on his hands and knees. One fist suddenly buried itself in the front of his tunic, and Theon was lifted to his feet. He stumbled on uncertain footing and locked eyes with the grey eyes of a...Stark. 

_No. A Snow._

Anger flared in Jon's eyes, a blazing fire trembling in his hardened pupils. Hatred burned brighter than a dragon's fire. Theon was dimly aware that words were screaming from his mouth, as spittle flew from his lips. All Theon really caught was a loud, rumbling thunder of voiced insults and fury. A few syllables wriggled themselves free from the noise, to tangle and embed themselves painfully in his mind to intertwine with memories. 

'Winterfell, burned to the ground...they were your brothers, and you thought you were clever...burned them, children...Robb...betrayed...'

Jon suddenly paused for breath, and he lowered his voice to a dangerous, shuddering whisper.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now.'

'Jon!' A woman's cry, sharp, and cold, shattering. No, not a woman, a lady. A girl. 

'Let him go!' Sansa Stark rushed forward, her bright red curls smouldering, blinding, a single light and colour in the bleakness of approaching winter.

_Winter. In the South..._

'Sansa-' Jon spluttered, only twisting his fingers more viciously in the folds of Theon's shirt.

'He saved me, Jon,' she gasped, tears flickering in her eyes, 'we escaped Ramsay together, we jumped off the battlements of Winterfell, and fell in the snow. He even attempted to give himself up for me, when Ramsay's men and his dogs caught up with us, please, release him.' Jon blinked, pain squirming in his expression, his brow furrowed in confusion, no doubt conflicted.

Jon loosened his grip, and Theon fell, sagging to his knees.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... Winterfell...Ser Rodrik...Burned boys...Robb..._

'Theon...' 

He looked up, as Sansa kneeled in front of him, her eyes crinkled with worry. A sort of steel seemed evident in her expression, however, hardened glass over her eyes, but...she softened...for him...

 _Sansa._ He never thought he would ever see her again...

She smelled of lemons, and much more beautiful, forgotten things. Memories.

She touched his shoulders, seemingly inspecting him for injury, when her hand fluttered to the tender, newfound bruise on his face. It flared dully beneath her touch.

'You shouldn't be here,' he could only help say.  _It's not safe, what was Jon playing at?_ She smiled softly.

'I go where I'm needed,' she replied. 'And Jon...requires my assistance.' She leaned forward.

'We know how the game is played,' she whispered in his ear, 'we know how they think.' A shudder ran down Theon's spine, a trickle of water.  _Yes,_ he could only help think,  _we do. We know how the darkest minds perceive us. How they wish to hurt us._

He hooked the forefinger of his right hand lightly in the folds of her sleeve in response. He clung to her, unaware he truly needed to, until now.

Then she was pulled away from him, and her fingers left his cheek. She was set on her feet, and sped away.

Theon stared at where she had knelt, and blinked back a single tear.

~

'Jon, wait!' 

Jon turned, anger pulsing in his chest, his hands balled into fists.  _How?_ Sansa stopped, waiting for him to approach her, to near her. 

'What?' Jon demanded. 'What do you have to tell me? That you-you-' his jaw clenched, and he breathed back the fury bursting to spill. He wanted to...Run? Strike something? His hands uncurled slowly, haltingly. He couldn't look at her.

'Leave me be,' he said quietly. She looked at him imploringly, as though willing him to see a realization he himself had not yet managed to grasp. She neared him cautiously. 

'Jon, he saved me, please, you have to understand-'

'Understand what?' he cried, 'he burned our home!'

'It's fixed now, we rebuilt it-'

'I can't listen to this,' Jon turned away. Sansa persisted, trailing him, close.

'He knows what he's done, he's apologized, his paid-'

The anger reared its ugly head, flaring in the pit of his stomach. 'Paid? He's alive! He's living and breathing, while Bran is lost to us, and Rickon was forced to leave our home, and was the prisoner of the man who hurt you!' He swallowed. His mouth was so dry, so cracked, parched. He had to protect her, after everything...

He remembered the long nights within the warm wall of Winterfell, as they escaped the storm, and Sansa sat on her bed, brushing her flaming hair, as she smiled, and spoke of the knights in her books, who rescued ladies and princes who swept them further into the dwindling light of the sun. A little girl with coloured dreams. All shattered, all torn...

'I know,' Sansa lowered her head, tears welling in her eyes. Jon felt a sudden urge to hold her, keep her safe...

'But he's changed, he's different now,' Sansa appealed, raising her head. An old pain in his heart swelled, pulling him apart; he backed away as she reached out for him. 'Jon-'

'Robb!' a cry at the back of his throat, 'He betrayed him, our brother, your mother, if he hadn't-hadn't-'

'Please, Jon, don't,' tears streamed down Sansa's cheeks, bright and glistening in the gloom.

'Our family is stripped to pieces because of him-'

'He is also the reason we are together!'

Jon blinked, his breath caught in his teeth. Sansa wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his form, clinging to him, a mast in a storm. 'He helped bring me to you, and we are piecing our house, our family, back together-'

'We will never be together again, we will always be...lost,' Jon countered, his chin buried in her hair. 'You should have stayed in Winterfell-'

Sansa pulled away from him, her hands locked in his. 

'Jon, I'm not a child anymore,' she said softly. 'You need me, you told me. I know how this game is played.'

'I don't...want you around him,' he said quietly. Her eyes then locked with his own, the brightest blue of the Tullys, so unlike the grey of the Starks.

'Me and him have one thing in common,' she told him, 'my late husband. We both know how the darkest minds of this world work. You need me here with you, because you are the sword in the darkness...but a sharp, pointed blade requires a hand to guide it. A King needs a Hand, or, I suppose, only a lady. A sister.'

The rage was suddenly calmed, leached from his boiling blood. A weary exhaustion swept over him, weakening him. He couldn't hold onto her, and tuck her away, but, as he stared into her eyes, so pale, once belonging to a smiling girl, he didn't see her. He saw a hardness instead, beads of solid glass. Impenetrable.

Ice.

'Yes,' he replied gently, 'I need you, but-'

She withdrew, her hands slipping from his.

'No,' she said simply, 'I am not yours, or anyone else's. I am not married.' A beat. 'I make my own choices now.'

She left him to ponder her words.

~

The Small Council was immediately a place Jon found he didn't want to be. He detested the unspoken rules of politics, of the pretentious hierarchy, and the false smiles and nods maintained and administered as needed, with barely suppressed bouts of agitation and condescension attached to them. He grimaced inwardly, and immediately faltered at the correct seating arrangement. 

Eventually, after many unpleasant mutterings, and polite coughs, the new arrivals were ushered to the supposed correct places, and Jon was eventually settled on Lady Olenna's left, the Greyjoy Queen refusing to move from her right, while the illegitimate Dornish princess took her begrudging place beside her. Sansa sat stoically beside Jon, her shoulders rolled back. Davos took his place respectfully beside her. Various other unrecognizable faces littered the table...except... 

Jon's eyes rested momentarily on a man with golden hair shining even in the approaching shadows of winter. _Lannister. Kingslayer_.  _He attacked..._  

Jon clenched his fists under the table. He was now in the fortress where his father was...

His gaze slowly shifted over the remaining council members; a bald man with a slippery smile, an unfamiliar young girl with curly hair and a kind smile, a stony-faced soldier, and...Theon Greyjoy, hunched at the end. The familiar, satisfied, mocking smirk had fallen from his face.

Jon forced his eyes away before his expression deepened into a glare. Then the old Lady of House Tyrell began to speak, the survivor of her tattered family.

Enemies, allies, bannermen, sellswords, strangers from across the Narrow Sea forced into a single room at a singular elongated table. It was a situation more eruptive, delicate, and perilous than a cache of wildfire near a burning candle.

'Alright,' Lady Olenna sighed, 'we seem to possess a slight problem.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and there is loads more to come!


	12. Forgotten Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon adjusts to his new environment, Sansa holds various discussions with confusing people, and Tyrion ponders escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry it has been another large gap, though not as big as the last one. I really need to get into this again, jeez... Wow, alright, Game of Thrones has returned with its new batch of traumatizing horrors! Very excited.
> 
> A little something to say: I am obviously not truly following the show or the books, but kind of blending with both, mostly using the show, (cause, you know, fewer characters,) but I will be writing about what I want to happen, rather than what will most likely happen, but I will try my best to respect both universes, and probably dance around with what's going on in Season 7, but my story will be different. This fic and the characters are mostly based on the show. Also, obviously I don't own anything.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it, and please enjoy!
> 
> As always, never beta'd or reviewed, so please welcome spelling errors like an old enemy.
> 
> This is a Sansa POV, and a Tyrion POV
> 
> P.S. Written before episode 2, only published now.

Sansa closed her eyes, as the wind whistled gently through her hair, whispering the screams of dark memories she hadn't wished to return to. Yet, here she was, once again, trapped in the confining walls of the Red Keep, the fortress where her nightmares began, where they finally took shape, breathed life, and consumed her.

Her thoughts traveled to the night she escaped, the day she had been spirited away by her drunken fool, her Florian. How stupid she had been, such a stupid little girl with colourful dreams as delicate as paper. She stood by the godswood, the sanctuary she had turned to so often for comfort, hoping the gods could hear her pleas. She didn't pray now, but only stood silently, as the whispers of the dead surrounded her, hateful, muttering ghosts. She eventually wondered if Tyrion was still alive. His story had been quite compelling, as she learned at the Small Council meeting. He had been on trial for Joffrey's murder, had nearly been executed, but instead, Jaime Lannister and Lord Varys confessed, he had been released, and smuggled across the Narrow Sea to Essos, where he soon became Hand of the Queen. The Targaryen Queen with three dragons. 

_Dragons Cersei now held at her command._

It still unsettled her, after everything she had seen, how much truth there really was in Old Nan's tales, but there was only truth in the gruesome stories, of the horrific creatures stalking their prey in the Long Night. Except, the monsters had always been there, surrounding her. Winter merely brought the more obvious of the lot. As far as she was concerned, the land was already plagued with the deeds of evil men. _And women,_ she added to herself,  _women can be just as cruel._  The monsters. Monsters never truly died in the light of the day, instead they smiled, and basked in the warmth. Monsters were never vanquished.

 _But,_ she felt the smallest corner of her lip curl,  _some monsters can be killed._ Ramsay was gone, Joffrey was gone, and here she stood to remember them, to be forever haunted by their lingering ghosts.

It didn't matter now, the way she saw it. They would either all perish in Cersei's dragon fire, or suffer in the Long Night.

All her children were gone, even Tommen, a soft boy, who cried when his sister left for Dorne. She never minded him, as he reminded her too often of Bran and Rickon, though even Rickon was much stronger than him. They had left Rickon as Lord of Winterfell, to rule in their stead in their absence, though he was surrounded by loyal northern houses, a wildling woman he seemed close to, and the resilient Lyanna Mormont. It soon became apparent the Lady of House Mormont had taken a grudging liking to him, although, she did enjoy ordering him about more often than not. 

_Bran..._

It pained her, already she longed to return to her northern homeland. The south was not a place she ever wanted to return to, but... Jon needed her. He needed an advisor he could truly trust, who understood the monsters, and only she seemed to be the proper candidate. Petyr no longer whispered in her ear...

After everything, she had only returned to the Capital. Perhaps she would never leave...

It had been decidedly stifling in the Small Council Chamber, a place where friends and foes alike were shoved together to glower or grin at one another. She didn't truly believe anyone was really friends with the other, but...not everyone at the table was a monster. Many she did not know, some only by the legends of their hideous deeds, and others...

'Lady Sansa, forgive me for intruding,' the voice was naturally lilting, almost mocking, and yet laced with a heavy, somber, defeated tone, as though he knew the gods were not on his side, and yet, felt compelled to mock others all the same. She turned, instantly frowning as recognition dawned.

'Ser Jaime Lannister,' she replied courteously, though she couldn't hide the subtle bite, the metallic edge in her voice. Jaime Lannister didn't miss it. She immediately judged he knew often too well when one approached him with hostility. It would be a familiar foe.

'You seek comfort in the old gods?' she couldn't help but inquire. He had no reason to be here. No one ever came here, it was the main reason she had preferred to seek solitude here, rather than in the sept. She didn't seek anything anymore, and drew no comfort either. They had never helped her.

'Gods no,' the Lannister instantly replied, shaking his head, 'no...although, I suppose I will have to get my praying in somehow, seeming as the Sept of Baelor is no longer in use,' he muttered. 

'You don't pray,' she said flatly. He smiled, a quick pull in his lips. 

'No, I don't,' he confirmed. 'You disapprove? I thought the Starks were big on the whole benevolent thing, always all burning with righteousness, or-'

'Why are you here?' she demanded. She had no wish to speak to this man. 'You wished for smalltalk? I don't imagine anyone really wants to talk to you here. How lonely you must feel.'  The old Sansa would never have spoken so rudely to a knight, she had worn her courtesy as armour, and yet...

She was not a cowering, little girl anymore. She no longer had to hide.

'And how about you? Are you lonely?' he asked. She blinked at his question.

'No,' she replied, though a part of her knew...

'We are all alone, in the end,' he said, 'in the end, all we have is ourselves.' She shook her head.

'Perhaps that is true for you, Lannister.'

'And what about you? Oh, yes, your _half_ brother, your family-'

'Yes,' she said easily, 'no thanks to you or your family.' The last words were laced with a pain she hadn't meant to utter.

The Kingslayer stared at her for a moment, before relaxing into a lost smile.

'No thanks to my family,' he echoed. A sudden anger flared in her. 

'Did you do it?' she suddenly asked, 'did you push my brother out a window, and cripple him?' She had heard the rumours... She looked at him, then, truly stared. He was an unhappy man, the type who always seemed to force a false smile. Perhaps that was his own armour. A glimmering, golden hand rested where his right used to be. This was a man who had lost many things. Even himself. She did not know yet to feel pity...

'Yes,' he replied. 'I pushed him out a window, and hoped he died. I've always admired the Starks,' he went on, 'how stubborn they all seem to be. Your mother especially. She smacked me in the head with a rock once. You remind me of her.' 

'You're a monster,' she said quietly. 

'No,' he said simply, 'only a man.' 

She wanted him to go away. She couldn't stand the sight of him. 

'Please state your business, and kindly leave,' she said monotonously, turning away. 'I don't wish to speak further with anyone who would murder children.'

'And yet, I saw you the other day, defending the Greyjoy boy, successfully preventing your brother from tearing his head clean off,' the Kingslayer advanced slowly, his tone ever mocking, yet with a soft edge, as though he did not truly wish to quarrel with her. She held no patience for him.

'That's different-'

'Is it?'

She faced him. 'He's paid for his crimes,' she replied.

'Haven't I?' he said softly, vaguely gesturing with his golden hand. He saw her expression. 'No, I imagine not.' He sounded defeated.

'Why are you here?' Sansa asked again, 'why are you with us, and not with Cersei?'

'My...sister...' his expression clouded. ' _I'll burn them all_ , she told me, _burn them all, every last one..._ She wanted me to bring her Tyrion's head, she wanted to win.  _I'll burn them all,_ she kept saying. Winning doesn't mean anything, if you're only the ruler of ashes. She...' A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, 'she spoke the words of the Mad King, before I killed him.'

Sansa blinked. She didn't know how to feel...

'Bran wanted to be a knight,' she only said, 'he loved climbing, it was his world. He loved fighting, and leaping, feeling the wind in his ears as he ran. You took away his world. You stole it from him.'

He didn't speak for a moment. Then his eyes glazed over, and the muscles in his face hardened.

'It's been nice speaking with you, My Lady. A raven, sent from the Wall,' he reached into his pocket, and extended a small, tightly rolled scroll, the seal unbroken, and black as a moonless, clouded night.

She accepted the message, pulling it gently from his grasp, careful not to touch him. 'Thank you,' she said stoically, her courtesy returning, an unbreachable wall. 'You may go,' she added.

'I am not your enemy, Lady Stark,' he said quietly, a soft mutter, 'though I suppose allies were never meant to be friends.' He then nodded curtly, and left. She watched him go, before hastily cracking open the seal. 

~

'Jon!' Sansa exclaimed as she sped down the hall, her shoes slipping on the cobbles, nearly tripping her. She didn't know why she called for him, knowing only too well he couldn't hear her, but her heart fluttered with excitement, as she clutched the letter tightly in her fist. It was miraculous, filled with such daunting words, such sweet, beautiful words...

She only knew she had to find him, to give him the wonderful news-

She rounded the corner, into the courtyard near their quarters, and stopped short.

'Jon!' she yelled, breaking into a run, which proved difficult in her cumbersome dress, as it flapped and swirled around her ankles. Jon stood in the centre of the courtyard, the undergrowth and vegetation recently neglected, a small cluster of weeds beginning to lay siege to the withering flowers. He was currently occupied in a fearsome shouting match with Asha Greyjoy, the supposed Queen of the Iron Islands. 

Theon appeared to be kneeling in front of Jon, his head constantly twisting between a submissive bow, or swivelling upwards to witness the verbal backhands. The row did not quieten as she neared. 

'You have no right, bastard-'

'I have every right!' Jon yelled back, 'the price for treason is death! Although, I suppose the Ironborn are so accustomed to breaking oaths and betrayal, that, over the years, if they were all punished, only gulls would guard the gates of Pyke.' 

'You have no right to claim my brother, you will leave him be. He has paid for his crimes, he has done nothing to you, Snow,' Asha glowered ferociously.

'Done nothing?' Jon snapped, 'he's the reason our ancestral home was taken and destroyed, that Bran and Rickon were forced to escape their own castle. He betrayed Robb, and murdered Ser Rodrik, a man who had been loyal to the Starks for-'

'Yes,' Asha cut in, 'the _Starks_. Are you a Stark, Lord Snow? Last I heard you were still a bastard. The bastard in the North, who fancies himself a king, while Eddard Stark's own trueborn daughter sits beside you. Theon did nothing to you, it should be Sansa who should judge him, not you.'

'Bran is still out there, in the snows, dead for all we know,' Jon pressed, anguish bleeding through his anger. 

'Jon,' Sansa called, and saw his jaw relax as he slowly turned to meet her. 'What's all this?' Theon stared at her as she approached, and quickly lowered his head once more. Asha sighed exasperatedly. 

'My idiot brother unfortunately crossed paths with Lord Snow, and decided to offer his greatest apologies, and...' She grit her teeth, and forcefully hoisted Theon to his feet. 'The right to remove his head, after all of this is done.' She glared at her brother. 'Good thing I came here in time to stop Snow from swinging out his sword-'

'Is this true?' Sansa instantly demanded, turning her attention towards her brother, 'were you going to...' She swallowed.

Jon looked at her.

'Of course not,' he assured, 'not now-'

'So you would execute him after all this is done?' Sansa pressed.

'Sansa-'

'He's paid for his crimes,' Sansa insisted. She couldn't lose another part of her, another memory from home...

She clutched the letter harder in her fist.

'What atonement?' Jon snapped, 'he's still in one piece, living, breathing, while Bran is gone. Robb is gone. Your mother, our father, Arya-'

'Then we should hold onto to those who still remain,' Sansa said firmly. She suddenly neared him, closing the space between them. She could feel his breath on her, could see the pain, the anger in his eyes.

'You wouldn't execute him,' she affirmed. A breath.

'No,' Jon said eventually, quietly.

'Why?' Sansa couldn't help ask. Jon was good, he was honourable, but why would he stray from his duty? Robb beheaded Lord Karstark when he had betrayed him.

'Because I've done plenty wrong,' he said eventually. 'I know what that's like. Because he's important to you, and...Lady Greyjoy is right.' His eyes bore into hers. 'I'm not a Stark. It's not my place.'

She basked in his gaze a moment, searching his eyes. She understood his answer.

'You are a Stark,' she said eventually, 'as much a Stark as anyone can be. You remind me of Father, and of Robb...all too well.' 

She suddenly remembered the letter she clutched in her hand. The excitement and hope suddenly swelled once more inside her, a burning flare. 

'Jon,' she smiled, 'a raven from Castle Black. Samwell Tarly and the Lord Commander have news...' She waited eagerly as he unfurled the letter she proffered, and watched as his eyes brightened and danced. He pulled her into his arms, and allowed the letter to fall from his fingers.

'Can it really be true, do you think? Could the Lord Commander be wrong?' Sansa asked, half wishing she had not voiced the words. Jon viciously shook his head as he gently released her.

'I don't want to think about that, I only want it to be true,' he said, 'I trust Edd with my life. I also trust his blunt judgement. No one would get past him who wasn't supposed to.' 

'We have to tell the others about Sam,' Jon went on, 'we have to act quickly.'

Sansa nodded.

~

'We have to strike Cersei before she rallies enough men to come to us.' 

Sansa listened attentively to Jon's speech, as he attempted to rouse the astonished Small Council. Visions of Bran's smiling, boyish features constantly drifted through her mind. She didn't imagine he would be a boy now.

'We cannot act rashly,' Lord Varys cautioned, 'we don't have the resources, many of our men died in the conquering of the Red Keep, and she does now hold the allegiance of House Tarly.'

'Cersei is a weakening force, she cowers on Dragonstone, she knows she cannot win-'

'With respect, she does hold in her possession our Queen, our Hand, and three very undeniably large dragons,' Varys added firmly. 'Ones she now has under her control, by use of Euron Greyjoy's Dragon Horn. Dragonstone is also a very strong fortress, laying siege to it would last months, and simply storming the gates would end in our most likely demise.'

'Yes, yes, thank you for reminding us of our helplessness and vulnerability, Lord Varys,' Lady Olenna piped up, 'do you have some sort of plan that does not involve our complete annihilation, Lord, er, you know, I'm not quite sure how to address you,' she said thoughtfully, 'Lord Snow? Stark? Lord Commander? Your Grace? Gods know we have enough monarchs already...'

'We can't storm the gates, and we can't lay siege, we do not have the time. The Long Night is coming-'

'Yes, so we've been told. Get to the point,' Lady Olenna interjected.

'We need someone to go inside, to find the weakest positions, to find a way through, to smuggle-'

'Um, Your Grace,' Davos gently cleared his throat. 'Gods be good, it always seems to come back to this, doesn't it?' He muttered to himself. 'I suppose I could get anyone in and out.'

Jon paused, then nodded. 'Yes, of course,' he acknowledged the Onion Knight.

'You cannot go alone,' Jon insisted. 'You need someone who can travel in the shadows, go about seen, but unrecognized, unimportant. Someone who can travel into the bowels of the stronghold, and search for the Dragonglass, who can map out their defences, who can perhaps find the dungeons, who can tell us what we are fighting.' He paused. 'I know what I'm asking...'

'You think you do? You're asking for someone who does not exist,' Lady Olenna scoffed, 'who would volunteer for such a reckless mission?'

Sansa looked the length of the table. Who could they spare? Who was valuable, could be trusted with such a task and knowledge, yet no great loss for the wars to come?

'You may not return,' Jon said quietly, 'but what you are doing is a task only the most trusted could fulfill.'

'I'll go,' the sellsword on Jaime Lannister's left immediately volunteered. 'How hard could it be? Done a few odd tasks in me life. What's one more? As long as someone's paying me-'

'No one would be paying you,' said Jon firmly. 'Can we trust you? A sellsword follows gold. Would you talk if Cersei Lannister took a fancy to carving you up, bit by bit?' Jon flicked his eyes over him, 'I think you would.'

'Well, that's your opinion, isn't it?' the sellsword grumbled. The Lannister looked at the sellsword.

'Would you really give up your life for no money?' he asked, doubt laced in his voice.

'Perhaps not...' the sellsword shrugged, 'I do like me skin where it is.'

'I go,' the Unsullied soldier spoke up, pledging his duty. The girl, Missandei, immediately clutched his arm at his words. Sansa felt a stab of pity.

'Oh, please,' the sellsword drawled, 'as soon as you open your foreign mouth anyone will know-'

'I have gone before,' the soldier pressed in broken english. 

'Yes? And if you're adapting to the environment around you? Anyone asks or speaks to you, you'll end up just fighting. Your accent is a right red flag.'

'Why don't you go, Snow? It's your bright idea,' Asha piped up. Sansa instantly felt her hand reach for Jon...she hid her hand beneath the table just in time. 

'Jon is the King in the North, and our hope against the Long Night,' Sansa said easily, 'he is invaluable. We cannot afford to lose-'

'Then, my dear, you're asking for someone absolutely disposable, yet  unconditionally trustworthy?' Lady Olenna scoffed once more, tilting her head to the side, her elbow poised on the arm of her chair. 'I'm afraid no one of this description-' 

Sansa slowly felt her gaze travel the length of the table, until she felt it rest against her will on...Oh.

Theon Greyjoy slowly, dejectedly, rose his head. 

~

'No, absolutely not,' Asha snapped angrily. She turned to her brother, her wrist tightening on his arm. 'Please, Theon, don't do this.' Theon didn't look at her. His eyes seemed to be glazed over, drawn into themselves. He stared resolutely at the engravings in the table. 'Look at me,' she ordered. He slowly shifted his gaze. She clamped her hand on his neck. 'You are not going, that is final.'

'Someone unimportant? Who can pass unseen?' He said quietly. 'I lived in the Dreadfort. You don't ever want to be seen.' 

'You're not trustworthy, don't you have a brief history of betraying your lords?' the sellsword interjected. 

'He betrayed my brother for his...family,' Jon muttered. He looked down. 

'He's paid for his crimes,' Asha insisted. It appeared to be a phrase required to be repeated. 'If I remember correctly, my brother rescued Sansa Stark from the clutches of Ramsay Bolton.' She rose to her feet angrily. 'He's worth more than many of you cowards combined. And he is not going.' Theon discreetly touched her arm, and she glanced down. She waited for his words. 

'I'll go,' he said, the softest of whispers. 'I'm not of importance,' he muttered, 'yet, I won't betray-'

'God, Theon, you've already done this!' Asha threw up her hands, and turned away from the table. 'You're not a bloody hero.' 

'I know,' Theon responded quickly, 'but I can do something-'

'Give up your life? I'll not have you galavant right over into the arms of another tormentor! There's not a bare place on your body! Where would they stick their knives if they caught you?'

Theon cautiously rose to his feet.

'I don't intend to die. I don't intend to be caught. This is a task of importance. Let me prove myself.'

'You don't need to prove anything,' Asha stared at him, willing to drag him away from the idea.

'I need to be of use,' Theon countered. 'I cannot help you much on the battlefield, I cannot help you in here, strategizing...I can help in the shadows.' He addressed the Small Council. Sansa felt her stomach tighten, her heart quiver in her chest. _No_...

'No,' Jon replied, 'how do we know you will not speak of our plans once you arrive, and betray us, if they catch you, and Queen Cersei puts a knife at your throat? Or looks to torture?'

Theon merely smiled. Sansa felt her spine tremble, her skin crawl. She had never seen him smile since before they were children, before she left for King's Landing the first time, her head full of fancies, shining knights, and princes. It was the merest shadow on his lips, he never dared reveal his teeth, but it was there. 

'Your grace, I believe I've gotten used to the whole ordeal,' he said solemnly, his smile fading ever so slightly. He then quickly lowered his head, 'if you'll excuse me, your grace,' he muttered, before taking his leave. Asha stared after him. She cursed under her breath, kicked her chair, and vacated the room. Perhaps to follow him, or not. Sansa felt herself rise to her feet. She tore a brief glance at Jon, before taking her leave. 

She breathed deeply in the hall, after escaping the choking confines of the Small Council Chamber. She spotted Theon walking, a slight limp ever present in his stride, and, after a brief, contemplative breath of hesitation, she followed. 

~

Sansa quickened her pace, as he disappeared down into a dark hall, the stone steps disappearing into the gloom. She plunged down into the bowels of King's Landing, a hall she had never explored, and slowly entered the chamber. It was only lit by a few flickering torches lining the walls. She stopped short.

Skulls, larger than any animal she had ever seen, lined the corridor, silent, imposing sentinels. She stepped closer.  _Dragons._

'Theon?' she called into the surrounding, enveloping darkness. She heard a small scuffle, and her gaze shifted to the largest one near the end. She carefully approached, her heels clicking softly. 'Theon?' 

She found him, eventually, crouching inside the empty bones, the dragon's teeth like prison bars, closed in front of him. She leaned forward, pressing her head into the gaping eye socket.

'Theon,' she said quietly. His head was bowed, his fingers twisting in his hair, knuckles white. He shivered slightly as she addressed him, and she heard a soft mutter under his breath. She walked around the skull, trailing her fingers along the tightly bound bone structure, until she came to kneel at his side. He did not look up. She leaned forward. 

'Theon...My name is Theon...you have to know your name...Theon...my name is Theon...you have to know your name...' he whispered the words repeatedly, firmly, as though afraid he would forget them. She gently, cautiously, stuck out her arm, and placed it lightly on the back of his neck. He twitched faintly at her touch, and slowly lifted his head. His eyes bore into hers, pale, clouded spheres, haunted. They made her inadvertently shiver. She swallowed dryly.

'Sansa...' he murmured, 'what are you...why...'

She gently shushed him, and removed her hand. 

'Are you going to be okay?' she asked eventually, 'I'm sorry it has to be this way.' Theon blinked.

'You were there...' he said quietly, the words about to break on his tongue, 'how did he die?'

A coldness seeped into Sansa's skin, and she trembled. Her eye stung, though she didn't move. 

'I killed him,' she whispered. His eyes widened, glassy, glazed. 'We tied him to a chair, and I watched, as his dogs devoured him.'

Theon's eyes twitched, and began to breathe sharply, harshly. His mangled hand fluttered to his chest, and he clutched his own collar, as though he were choking. 

'Theon-' she reached out, and grabbed his hands, holding them in her own. He blinked furiously, his gaze resting firmly on the ground, avoiding her completely. She bowed her head, nearly connecting her brow to his own. There were scars on his hands she had never noticed. New cuts healing on his face, fading bruises. 

'You should have been with me,' she said, 'we should have done it together.' His breath caught in his throat at her words. She held him until the energy seeped from his body, and he slumped forward, nearly falling. He caught himself in time.

They sat in the weakness of the flickering torchlight, silent, their thoughts no restful place. 

They sat, and shivered, though it was warm.

~

Tyrion didn't even bother to fight his chains. Chained firmly to the side of the throne of Dragonstone, he could barely move, for the weight of the manacles on his wrists and ankles. His clothes were coated with grime, and soiled, he felt they had nearly become a part of his skin. His wrists were chaffed red and raw, and his tongue lay cracked and parched between his teeth. 

Daenerys sat on the throne itself, regal, stoic, unfazed, dirty, bedraggled, her hair in knotted clumps, her finery reduced to rags. Her wrists were chained in front of hair, as she was bound to the throne. Well, she wanted a Westerosi throne...

Cersei smiled from below, a smirk, a gentle curl in her lip, a glass of wine ever present in her grip.  _She must have smuggled at least twenty cases when she fled,_ Tyrion thought coldly. He, unfortunately, had been forced to sobriety, an eternally unhappy state for him. It made his head so horribly clear. After the shakes and trembles in his body slowly subsided.

They were forced to watch, as Cersei had three of their captured soldiers brutally decapitated in front of them. One Unsullied, one Dothraki blood-rider, and one Dornish soldier. Their blood spattered the floor, as the swords swerved down in elegant arcs. Their bodies were dragged away unceremoniously from the hall.

'What a waste,' Cersei said quietly.  _What a show._

'Tell me, dear sister,' he called, though how hopeless, how useless the words felt, 'are you going to sit here on this shit-stained rock, while delighting in torturing us, and providing us with such unwanted distractions and displays, or are you really going to attack King's Landing? What is keeping you in our sorry company, do tell, I'm most intrigued.'

Cersei frowned at his words, and cocked her head slightly to the side. 

'Do you want me to kill you now?' she said, the words slippery, oily on her tongue, though the consonants remained sharp, and polished. Tyrion shrugged.

'If you're going to do it, best get on with it,' he replied. 'What are you waiting for?'

'You would like that, wouldn't you? For your death to be so simple.' A small chuckle. 'Simplicity is the last thing I have in mind for you.'

'Well, while you're biding your time here, they're gathering their allies and forces to come and destroy you,' Tyrion pointed out. She laughed quietly.

'We can withstand a siege,' she said idly, turning, 'and we have dragons. They won't dare approach us for at least a while.' Her eyes flicked over him, contemplative for a moment. 'I think I like the two of you there, I won't try to unsettle you just yet.' She paused a moment, before she turned, and strode through the doors, her heels clipping on the stone. 

Her guards remained behind, save for the towering one, the one larger than any man Tyrion had seen since...The Mountain.

As Tyrion felt his heart wither slightly in his chest, his head fold inward, to sag, he felt a figure approach. It was the faintest of shadows, and it whispered, its breath cold in Tyrion's ear. 

'Fire and blood,' it rasped, before withdrawing into the darkness from whence it sprung.

There was nothing familiar about it.

Tyrion smiled.

~

Arya smiled, a gentle pull in her lips, as she felt Walder Frey's face slide from her fingers, to crumple on the floor. The girl stared at her, fear pulsing in her eyes.

'Tell them winter came for House Frey,' she said, before turning, and stepping from the dais. Wine and vomit bled across the floor, and she picked her way carefully between the lifeless bodies. Some were not quite gone yet, their limbs twitching and quirking sporadically, but she did not worry. They would die soon enough.

Arya moved to leave into the night, to open the doors to escape the stench of bile, and the heat of the hall, when she stopped. She turned slowly to the right, and watched, as a young serving girl briefly caught her eye, and disappeared into the shadows. She frowned, and followed, her hand at Needle's hilt. 

She followed the drifting girl down darkened halls and twisted corridors, spiralling into the depths of the tower. The warmth disappeared, but she never shivered. 

The serving girl disappeared, to join the shadows creeping along the walls. She wasn't afraid of the shadows. They were where she lived. 

Arya plunged ahead, treading silently, until-

The dungeons. The stench of vomit and nightsoil filled her nostrils, clamping over her nose. She suppressed the urge to gag, and crept forward, listening, watching. She neared a single cell, the occupant awake, staring vacantly at the wall, coated in dirt and grime. His eyes were lost, unfocused. Arya thought to leave him. His wits had probably long since scattered. _What was one more?_ The thought instantly stopped her, and she blinked. 

She neared the cell. She cleared her throat. The man's head jerked up, and he stared wildly, his eyes the brightest colour in the gloom. Pale blue.

'What is your name?' she asked quietly. He coughed, the noise harsh, and wet. 

'Who are you?' he demanded, the voice a weak rasp, yet laced with a spark of strength.

'No one,' Arya replied. 'What is your name?' 

'Edmure, of House Tully,' he replied, and laughed, a coarse chuckle. She stared. Her heart stuttered. 

'My name is Arya Stark,' she said. 

He blinked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you don't mind where the story is going!
> 
>  
> 
> Walder Frey said Edmure was back in a cell, so, you know, why not? Also, Edmure is one of my favourite characters from the books, so I didn't feel like forgetting about him. I was also not very impressed with how they wrote him to be in Season 3... 
> 
> Also...
> 
> Fish swim. Even black ones...


	13. The Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon prepares to enter Dragonstone, and Arya traverses the Riverlands with her new travelling companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Finally a new chapter spewed out! Sorry for the large delay, although you've probably all forgotten about this old thing by now...  
> Anyway, new season! How is everyone enjoying it? I certainly am...except...not enough Theon, but I guess you can't have everything.  
> Also a little bummed out by how the Stark reunions are going...  
> Anyway, (I hope this didn't invoke any debates, anything and everything seems to nowadays) I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Not beta'd.
> 
> This is a Theon POV, a Jon POV, and an Arya POV.

His hands shook, the trembling flares racing along his nerves, jangling in his ears, a blood pulsing fiercely, too loud to hear anything else. He always had to try to calm himself in these times, when... Theon blinked, and focused on the air racing through his lungs, leaving his chest. There wasn't enough, or there was too much, a mouthful too large to swallow.

The bath lay in the middle of the room, steam curling lazily from the surface, twisting ghosts.

No matter the palpitations racing and screaming through every muscle and drop of blood in his body, Theon forced himself through this ritual everyday. Everyday he had to be clean, he had to scrub away...everything, until his skin nearly broke. He swallowed the bile creeping up the back of his throat. His stomach was empty, he had made sure of it, but even so...

Theon closed his eyes, and cursed himself inwardly. How cowardly, how  _weak._

_Reek, reek, it rhymes with weak_

'Shut it,' he whispered to himself, an angry hiss. He forced air into his body once more, and began peeling the leather gloves from his mangled fingers. His hands were free, and he avoided looking at them. He hated how they appeared, the flesh pale, nearly a bloodless white, the scars a livid, garish red. The stump.

He shuddered, and moved on to the shirt. He fumbled with the bloody laces, but eventually, he was able to free himself from the weight of the clothes designed for winter. A faster moving cloud bringing the cold, the frost, the wind.

_Still the North comes to claim me._

Theon scoffed at himself. No, he would be moving into the darkness, into the shadows of Dragonstone, where no light, no snow could find him. The prospect did not frighten him as much as he thought it would. Not now, anyway, after he had been allowed an extra day to contemplate his decision, and slow his ragged breath.

_And Sansa. Her hands, her beaten form, her arms...around me._

Theon stopped, his shirt a crumpled heap on the ground, his fingers buried in the laces of his trousers.

_No._

Sometimes...he couldn't take them off. Sometimes...he climbed into the bath, never having removed him. Something mostly managed to stop him. 

Other times, though...Other times he could. If he closed his eyes, and focused on one-

_'How did he die?'_

' _I killed him...I watched as his dogs devoured him.'_

No. No.

_no no no..._

_The sun blazed on her head, her hair a raging fire. Kissed by the flames. Her smile._

_Would she marry me one day? Eddard Stark would then claim me...claim me as his own son._

But that was only a child's fancy. 

He didn't want to go into the darkness without her, he realized, a sudden stab to his chest. He wanted to return. If only for her smile. 

_She smiles less often now..._

She was only a girl. A girl who had been destroyed, and torn apart. Broken. By  _him._ Ramsa-

Theon blinked back the tears threatening to spill, clouding and blurring his vision.

She killed him.

She watched.

She  _watched._

_Then he's dead. She said it herself. He's gone. She killed him._

_No._

Sansa was...just that. A smiling girl with stories of knights and princes. She would never...He couldn't...She would never do that...

_'Reek, I told you to watch.'_

_'You should have been with me. We should have done it together.'_

 

_Yes._

NO.

Theon clamped his hands over his ears, the blood pounding so fiercely, a beating, deafening drum.

The door flew open.

Theon whirled around, his heart leaping into his mouth, as the hinges creaked and squealed. A figure stood in the doorway, their eyes immediately focusing on him, widening. Blue eyes.

 _Her_ eyes _._

He slowly dropped his hands, only half aware he was doing so, and crossed his arms around his torso. No. Oh no. _No no no-_

'Theon,' she whispered, her voice broken, scattered pieces. Theon shook his head, backing away from her. No. _She wasn't supposed to...She shouldn't see..._

'You...You shouldn't be here,' he said quietly, a soft murmur trembling on his lips. His heels touched the edge of the basin. She only advanced, striding forward, a mixture between determination, and hesitation. Theon couldn't move, he didn't know how. Would he somehow run around her, make it to the door? The room was so small...

She reached him. 

She stared at him, her eyes flicking over him. Her hand began to reach out, her fingers uncurling and stretching. He shied away from her, nearly falling backwards. He managed to catch his balance in time. 

Her hand landed on his arm, and gently pried them apart. 

'This is what he did to you?' she said softly, swallowing. 

'Mostly him,' Theon replied, quickly easing out of her grasp, and shuffling to the wall, his back to her. This only made her gasp.  _Damn._ He had forgotten...

'Theon-'

'It's nothing I didn't deserve,' he insisted, his arms hugging his chest protectively. 

'But...' she faltered, taking him in. He wanted her to leave. He couldn't do this-

'You haven't been with Ramsay in months,' she said eventually, 'why do they...why are they so fresh? Bruising-'

'It was nothing,' Theon insisted, 'please, my lady-'

'My name is Sansa,' she interjected, 'call me Sansa.'

Theon averted his gaze, his eyes travelling to the floor. 

'How can you say that?' she persisted, 'it was nothing you didn't deserve?'

'It's the truth,' Theon simply replied. He should be dead, but even the gods new that was too good of an end for him, much too merciful. 

'Gods, Theon,' her eyes crinkled, and she pressed her palm to her forehead, 'I should have told you this much sooner.' She stared at him, her breaths forced and irregular. 

'Bran is back in Winterfell. With Rickon,' she said. Theon felt his heart quicken in his chest. They were...safe, they were home. After all these years.

'Is he...is he alright?' He asked timidly.  _Of course he wouldn't be._

'He's home,' she said simply. Theon stared firmly at the floor.

'It doesn't change what I did,' he said finally, 'it doesn't-'

'Theon!' She cried suddenly, advancing. She was close now, a mere hand's breadth away, her blue eyes sparkling, catching the weak light filtering through the window. 'I have lost my father, my mother, my brother, my sister. I will hold on with all my strength to those who are left.' She reached out, and touched his arm. 'You saved me. If you say that doesn't mean anything, that anyone would have done the same, you're wrong.' He could feel her soft breath on him, a ruffling whisper. 'You saved me, when you couldn't or won't even save yourself.' She ran her thumb lightly across his lips, his blooming cheek. 

'I miss your smiles,' she said, 'everyone thought you were a selfish, cocksure prick, they said it often, except for Robb...' She tilted her head to the side, 'I never understood how a person could smile so often, as though laughing at their own joke, or the foolishness of other people. But...now I know.'

She sighed, and lowered her fingers to trace his shoulder.

'There was someone else?' she asked quietly, as though she didn't entirely want to know the answer. Theon snapped from his small reverie, his mind travelling to the distant, nearly lost realm of his days in Winterfell. Before _him._

'My...uncle. Euron Greyjoy,' he replied. 'He's dead now,' he added. Her eyes widened, blue, a lonely island, surrounded by encroaching white.

'Your own uncle?' she said, horror reflected in her voice. Theon shrugged.

'He wasn't any different than Ramsay, in the sense that he enjoyed the thrill of torturing people. I don't think it made a difference that it was his own nephew he was doing it to. He killed my father.' Theon blinked at his own speech.

'I'm...sorry,' she said quietly, as though afraid the words would break in her mouth, clashing against her teeth.

'Don't be,' Theon said quickly, 'of all the things in the world, do not be sorry.'

'You lost your father-'

'My real father...' _lost his head in King's Landing._ He faltered, and turned away from her. He couldn't look at her. He had no right to say that.

'He was no father to me. He abandoned me...when I returned, he thought I was a Sta-that I would betray him for Robb. He was wrong, apparently.' Theon nearly laughed, if he could remember how.

'Theon...why didn't your father...why were you there for so long? With _him_?' There was no question as to who  _him_ was. Theon almost smiled, he felt the corners of his lips twitch involuntarily. 

'He never...he declined offers...and my sister...tried. It was my fault it never worked.' 

'What? She tried to rescue you?' Sansa stared at him, astonished. 

'I...was confused. I couldn't think-I thought it wasn't her. It was a trick.' The wall pressed into his side.

'You told me,' Sansa murmured, 'when you tried to escape...I was pleased. I was pleased when you described it.' She lowered her eyes, and bit her lip. 

'You were right to feel that way. I deserved everything-'

'Theon!' she snapped, raising her head, her hand tightening on his bare shoulder. 'It was wrong, alright? It was all wrong. No one deserves to be tortured like this, the skin stripped from their body like the peel of an apple, and forced into someone they're not!'

'Sansa-'

'No!' She said firmly. 'He didn't only take pieces of you. He took you. He took away the person I grew up with. The person I thought I knew.'

'Who was I?' Theon interjected, 'nothing. I was never anything, I simply didn't know it yet. Now I do.'

'Shut it, Theon!' Sansa cried. He instantly quieted, his teeth grinding in his jaw. She held his head in her hands, fingers splayed across his cheeks. 

Her eyes blazed into his own, then she flung her arms around his neck, and clung to him. Pain flared across his body, but Theon didn't cry out. He didn't want her to let go. His left arm slowly, tentatively encircled her torso.     

_Theon Greyjoy didn't know what it was like, to have a home._

In these few moments, he did. 

~

'Why did you come here, anyway?' Theon asked tentatively. He held his shirt to his chest, as he sat precariously on the edge of his bed. Sansa sat on the only chair in the room. 'I...I didn't-no one knows this is where I sleep, except Asha-'

'I wasn't looking for you,' Sansa said quickly, 'I was looking for a place to clear my head. Get a few moments to...myself.' She sighed.

'I'm sorry, I appear to have ruined that-'

'No, it was silly, I know, in fact...' she flicked her eyes downward, 'I'm glad I ran into you.'

She lifted her head, and viewed the bath with a calculating stare.

'I think its gone cold. Your water.' She wrung her gloves. 'Do you want me to-'

'No,' Theon said immediately, 'I can't-not right now. Please.'

'He...' Sansa drew in a sharp breath, 'he called you...reek. Why?' She asked. Theon merely shrugged. His skin had turned numb, his blood curdling in his veins. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask, but-'

'He would never...he never let me...you know,' He looked once at the bath, then back to his hands. '...except as a,' he coughed, 'reward.'

She stared at him, her lips parted.

'Reward?'

'If he needed Theon, instead of reek,' Theon muttered, 'I thought...maybe, if I did what he wanted, he wouldn't take another finger, not another toe, no, he'd leave me be, leave all of me be, and maybe I would-it would stop hurting for a moment. Only a moment.' He stifled the sob clinging to the back of his throat, a lodged lump, nearly choking him. He gripped his shirt between battered fingers, the fabric caught between his nails. 'The games, the tricks...if I lost...' He shuddered violently, 'when I lost...' 

'I don't know how you survived with him for so long,' Sansa murmured. 'Theon...I'm...' Sansa stared at him, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears, 'I'm so sorry.'

_No, that was wrong. That was entirely wrong._

He shook his head. 'No, please-don't.' Theon rose to his feet, and turned away from her. He couldn't-

'I'll get a servant to send you more hot water,' Sansa said quickly, rising, the chair squealing on the floor.

'Don't-please, don't trouble yourself,' Theon insisted. She advanced, and he met her gaze as she neared. Hard, frozen glass. 

'Theon,' she said slowly, 'I will trouble myself.' She gently took his mangled right hand in her own. He flinched slightly as her fingers brushed his stump, his hideous, mangled fingers. She held it as though it were ordinary, nothing to curl her lip at, or drop in distaste. She leaned close, her breath tickling his ear. 

'I'm sorry.'

The door opened.

~

Jon sighed inwardly, the weight of the interrogations, rebuttals, arguments, negotiations, and various sidelong complaints, echoing in his skull. He needed to think, to clear his mind. He had endured quite enough of politics to last him a lifetime.  _Or another._

He strode easily down the halls, twisting and turning, until he found, yes, a small, remarkably unobtrusive room, nearly undetectable or of particular interest. This was certainly the room for him, to clear his head, be able to avoid his incessant bannermen. There was no possibility anyone would want to be living here, in the dark, at the end of a lonely, isolated hallway. Perhaps, if he could simply sit inside, gather his thoughts, for he was never given the luxury of privacy anymore, his head forced to be an open book, then he could still the rapid beating of his heart, for only a moment. For a small, tender moment, he could be free.

Jon scoffed at himself. There was no time for such foolishness, he knew. He had two wars to fight, there was no room for-

_Oh sod it. I can have one minute to myself._

He opened the door. 

He stopped in the doorway, his eyes swivelling in the gloom, the room only illuminated by the rapidly waning light of the day.

'Sansa!' He didn't know he had cried her name, until he heard the word echoing in his ears. Locks of flaming hair rippled gently as she turned towards him. She held hands with a man. For one fluttering, agonizing second, he thought it was Littlefinger.  _No, that's impossible. He stayed in Winterfell, I made certain he did._

Jon felt his hand fly to the pommel of his sword. 

_No. Not Littlefinger._

'Theon,' he growled, a sudden anger pulsing inside him. 'Sansa...what...let go of her!' he snapped, advancing. This was it. Greyjoy had no right to touch Sansa. He had to keep her safe. He suddenly caught horrifying recollections of all the women, all the girls, Theon would traipse off with in the brothels in the village. The girls he would chuckle with and touch in the halls of Winterfell. His hands picking at the laces of their gowns.  _No._

_'Get away from her!'_

'Jon, it's alright!' Sansa rushed towards him, placing her hands on his chest. 'Please, stop!' 

' _ou stay away from her!'_ Jon reached around her, his hand stretching-

He stopped. 

Something made him stop. It took him a moment to figure out what it was. Sansa held on to the front of his leather jerkin, her fingers trembling over the Stark decoration embossed on the front. 

'I would never-please-I would never...' Theon whispered, his back against the wall. He wore nothing but his trousers, his chest exposed. 

'Your clothes-'

'No, no!' Theon hastily waved his hands in front of him. 'No, I was-I was going to take a-a bath, Sansa walked in, I'm sorry, I swear to you, nothing took place!' 

'I remember what you were like, growing up,' Jon snapped, 'the girls liked you, didn't they?' 

'Jon, I can think and speak for myself, thank you!' Sansa interjected. 'He didn't do anything!'

'Not yet,' Jon snarled, 'he could have, no matter...' His eyes suddenly travelled to Theon's exposed flesh. Jon felt himself touch his own chest. The scars as deep, dark and curved as crooked smiles. 

Theon's own torso was pockmarked with mottled, twisted scars, garish brandings, lashes, and deep cuts. A finger was missing on his right hand, along with several nails. Jon stared, as Theon's lips quirked upward in a small, gruesome grin. A chuckle bubbled up from his throat, and ended in a pitiful cough. He laughed quietly, and turned away from Jon, stumbling to the window. He threw open the glass, leaned on the sill, and shivered, his frail, starved form shaking, with laughter, and the sudden cold. They were broken, harsh bursts, completely disfigured.

'You think this is something to laugh at, Greyjoy?' Jon demanded. His back was as bad as his front.

Theon shook his head, and leaned into the open window, his elbows propped up, as his hands cupped his face.

'No,' he said eventually, the laughter having died on his lips. 'I couldn't...I wouldn't, even if I could,' he said softly. 

'Please, Jon, leave him be,' said Sansa quietly by his ear, 'he's not who we grew up with in Winterfell. Ramsay Bolton made sure of that...and his uncle.'

'Ramsay Bolton...' Jon muttered to himself.  _He destroyed Sansa. He stole Rickon. He took our family home. After Theon._

'None of us are,' Jon replied, 'who we were. It doesn't undo what we've done.'

'You think I don't know that?' Theon asked, 'I should be dead. I can never make amends to your family for the things I've done.'

'No,' said Jon quietly, 'but I wouldn't recommend...'  _death. The darkness. Nothing._

In some ways, he knew that 'nothing' was worse than the pain of living.

_There are worse things than death..._

'Davos will meet with you in an hour. By the Mud Gate,' he said slowly. Theon nodded, turning to meet his gaze. 

_None of us are who we were._

_'_ Thank you, Jon,' he said. 

It wasn't until Jon exited the room, Sansa in tow, that he noticed one particular detail.

He hadn't called him Snow.

~

Arya sighed. This was not going to go well. He was too weak, his form starved, the marks of brutality welling in his face and swelling on his body. She had to find some sort of wagon, or something. 

She had made quick work of the lock. It wasn't hard, when you knew how. She slung his arm around her shoulders, as she helped him from his cell. He stumbled heavily, but he seemed to cling to her harshly, as though he was afraid she would disappear.

'Arya, Arya Stark, Cat's little daughter,' he murmured, his eyes blinking heavily, 'Cat...'

It was still night when they emerged from the darkness. Uncle Edmure went cautiously silent as she rushed him across the dining hall. 

'They're all...who...who did this?' He asked blearily. He then looked at his niece. 

'The North remembers,' Arya said simply, her tone dark. Edmure swallowed.

'You murdered them. You murdered them all,' he said blankly.

'Winter came for House Frey,' she said calmly. He didn't speak again. She managed to locate a small wagon, and help him climb into it, among what looked to be hay, and a few sacs of provisions. They had just come in that day. 

'Stay here,' she told her uncle, although she didn't believe he would move, regardless. She returned a few moments later with her horse, and carefully harnessed her white mare to the wagon. She looked inside, and stared. He had already fallen unconscious. Arya shrugged, and mounted easily onto her horse, sliding her boots in the stirrups. She would ride until the night bled to dawn.

She had stayed long enough already.

~

'Uncle, would you like some fish?' Arya prodded Edmure in the shoulder with her finger. He mumbled something incoherently, and frowned in his sleep. She sighed, and slapped his arm. He jolted to his senses, and stared at her, his eyes blinking rapidly. He swallowed.

'Would you like some fish?' she asked again, pointing to the small fire she had made, two trouts turning over the flames. Edmure only looked at them. His brow suddenly furrowed in confusion. He squinted his eyes against the harsh light of day, and stole a long look over his niece.

'Where are we?' He asked slowly, the words thick in his mouth. 

'Riverlands,' Arya replied promptly, 'I'm going to Winterfell. You're welcome to join me.'

'Arya...Arya Stark...Cat...' he said sluggishly. He then shot out a hand, and gripped her arm. 'You're real,' he said. Arya scoffed.

'Of course I'm real,' she said. 

'But...But...The Freys, Walder Frey, Jaime Lannister...' He appeared eternally confused, and stared around his new surroundings as though he had been caught in bed. Arya felt herself soften a little.

'The Freys are gone,' she said, 'Walder Frey is gone.' Edmure stared at her, his eyes widening, in recollection, no doubt.

'It was you,' he said softly, 'their bodies...everywhere, blood everywhere...'

'I think that was mostly wine, but sure, blood too,' she said idly. They couldn't stay in any one place long.

'You're my niece,' Edmure stated. Arya vaguely wondered if she had accidentally bumped his head. 'We all thought...my sister thought she had lost you. How...?'

'It's a long story,' she said, turning away from him. Well, if he wasn't going to eat, they better get a move on. She removed the fish from the flames, stowed them in another piece of cloth, and stomped on the fire. 

'Please, Arya,' Edmure groaned, and propped himself on his elbows. She loaded the supplies and trout into the wagon beside him. He didn't object, but only gently took her hand. 'I'm sorry. No one should travel this world alone. Please, tell me.'

Perhaps she would, she thought. She opened her mouth. 

_No. Something's wrong._

Something wasn't right. The field had gone quiet.

Arya turned away from her uncle, and gazed into the horizon. To the North.

The ground suddenly began to shake, the wagon rattling. Edmure followed her gaze.

Arya swallowed. 

A garrison approached.

~

Theon bit the inside of his cheek, as he stood, his boots sinking slightly into the sand. Davos readied a small dory on the shore, preparing to take them out to the slightly larger ship waiting for them out to sea. They would have to leave the ship far from the view of Dragonstone, without any distinguishable sails. Theon felt his heart fluttering in his chest, a weak, startled animal. Theon tried to ignore it.

'Lord Seaworth,' Theon said courteously, proffering his left hand. He didn't know why he even bothered with the gesture. Most did not wish to shake hands with a turncloak.

'Lord Greyjoy,' Davos said easily, almost cheerfully, taking his hand, and shaking it warmly with his left as well, 'alright, are yeh?' Theon stared at him.

'Please...just Theon. I'm no Lord,' Theon said hastily.

'Ah, me neither, call me Davos,' the man replied easily, 'happy to have you aboard, Theon.' He winked. Theon swallowed. This was decidedly unusual.

'At least I don't think I should worry about you being sick, should I? A proper Ironborn lad like yerself,' Davos went on. Theon blinked. He hadn't been truly comfortable on the seas since he had been a child. 

'Erm...'

'Right, say your last goodbyes, then,' Davos said, as he plonked a few more sacs into the boat. Theon nodded, and turned, as Asha rushed towards him, her eyes blazing sternly. She glared at him.

'You're shit, you know that?' She said angrily. She then pulled him into a rough embrace. 'If you die, I will be the one to haunt you. Got it?' 

Theon smiled inwardly, and nodded obediently. She let him go.

Theon looked up the beach, behind her. Jon stood with Varys, as they conversed, no doubt revising their plans. Davos joined them a minute later. Sansa stood beside her brother, and they soon locked eyes. 

He wanted to run towards her, and hold her in his arms. He wanted to say goodbye.

But he couldn't.

She merely stared at him, and he looked back. 

_I won't die. I won't be taken. I will come back._

Theon lingered with his sister as long as he could, and her hand clung to his own, until Davos returned, and Theon knew it was time.

'I don't intend to die,' he said quietly, lightly squeezing her hand, before he let her go. Theon saw, as tears welled slowly in her eyes, but she held them back. She would never cry in front of him. She wouldn't let herself stoop so low. He nearly smiled, but suppressed the urge. 

Theon turned, and walked down the beach, grains of sand clinging to his boots, Davos at his side. 

He took one side of the dory, and shoved it into the ocean.

 

 


	14. The Dragon's Lair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon nears the dragon's lair, Tyrion meets a mysterious figure, and Arya becomes acquainted with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! New chapter, finally, sorry for yet another delay. 
> 
> Season finale! (Suppresses internal screaming) Yes, were a few good moments in that one. To be honest, I'm a little worried for Season 8. I want all of these characters who are left to stay alive. I really don't want to have to keep worrying all over again...
> 
> In short, I can wait for Season 8. I can wait.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one, and thanks for reading!
> 
> As expected, still not beta'd (sorry!)
> 
> This is a Theon POV, a Tyrion POV, and an Arya POV.

Theon blinked heavily, brushing the woollen cloak of sleep from his eyes. He slowly pushed himself from the wood of his cabin's floor, ignoring the slight pain of slivers scratching his skin. He could barely remember a time when he considered such a small thing to be painful. He shoved the thought away.

Theon stumbled uncertainly to his feet, the cabin swaying and rolling beneath him, the walls tipping with every wave. Even now, after all their voyages at sea, he still felt the lingering twinge in the soul of his stomach. He couldn't help it. The sea was once his companion. Now, it...never felt the same. 

Other times, it seemed as though the churning vastness of the curling waves and the rippling salted wind was...home. A sense of familiarity so strong, and liberating, it almost felt as though the weight of the world was pulled from his shoulders, when he gazed out to the thin horizon, where the pale blue of the sky met the greyish, sparkling jade of the sea. On good days, blue only seemed to bleed into blue. 

At this moment, however, Theon did not feel at home, or safe. He suppressed the sudden urge to heave as the ship lurched once more to the side, and he quickly caught his balance, as he dug his weight into the wall, his hands pressing into the wood. He sighed. At least this voyage would not be terribly long...

The thought only caused his stomach to squirm with newfound vigour. It wasn't as though the destination would be a particularly pleasant one...

This time, the ship caught him unawares, as it pitched itself over an exceptionally raucous wave. Theon was flung forward, nearly cracking his head on the foot of his undisturbed bunk. A strong pair of hands stopped him just in time, wrapping around his torso. They steadied him, and he clung to their arms for support, turning in their grasp.

'Thank you-'

He raised his head, and looked into their eyes. Blue eyes. Theon stared, his heart pouncing into his mouth. No. No, it was a trick. It couldn't be true. No. 

_ No, no, no... _

Theon lurched away from his saviour, his back smashing against the wall. He didn't know if he was breathing, it didn't matter anymore. Tears sprang to his eyes, a sharp sting. He couldn't seem to hold them back.

'Robb...' He croaked, the words dying on his lips. 

Robb Stark stood before him, Tully eyes fierce, the brilliance of the day, the beauty of the ocean, auburn curls catching the flickering light of the candle. Theon shrank away from him, terror blossoming in his chest, a poisonous flower, strangling his throat. He couldn't cry out, or speak, the words lost.  _ I have to make amends, I have to make it right, make everything right. Oh, Robb, I'm so sorry, please... _

'Theon,' the word was spoken with a subtle hiss of hostility. Theon understood it only too well. He slowly sank to his knees, his legs buckling, bones clicking. 

'Please, I'm...' Theon nearly choked on a sob, 'please, Robb, I'm sorry...' 

'Sorry?' Robb demanded, anguish dripping from his words, 'you believe that will make everything better?'

'No!' Theon said hastily. Oh, gods, Robb... His skin was pale, far too pale, dark circles rimming his eyes. 'No, please, Robb, I-'

'Why? Why did you do it, Theon?' He asked simply, his voice low, a rumbling storm. Theon swallowed, bile creeping up his throat. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, dripping from his chin.

'Please, Robb-'

'Why?' Robb pressed, anger flashing in his eyes. Lightning.

'I chose wrong!' Theon cried, his fingers digging into the floor, 'I chose...I chose...' 

'Your family?' Robb said quietly, 'my father was more of a father to you than your own. You betrayed me. You betrayed him. You betrayed us all. Was I never your brother?'

'You were always...' Theon gulped, his lip trembling, 'you were always my brother. To me. Now and always. Even if I was never yours.'

'No,' Robb muttered, 'it was not your House. It never could be.'

'I told you, Robb, never trust a Greyjoy.'

Theon snapped his head to the side, his whole body trembling, every bone, every scrap of flesh. He nearly screamed.

Catelyn Stark sat on his bed, her head draped in a veil. White hair trailed from her scalp, no longer the fiery red of the Tullys. Dark grooves scarred her cheeks, her eyes pale, and staring. Her neck revealed a wide, weeping, red smile. Blood dripped from the wound, a never ending torrent, staining her clothes. She sneered at him in disgust.

'He's no different from his father. Greyjoys are only murderers, and thieves. Theon is no exception,' she stated.

'I find that terribly rude,' Euron murmured softly, his boots clicking on the floor, a firm, ponderous deliberation echoing in each calculated stride. He stopped at the edge of the shadows, never fully stepping into the light, his smiling eye twinkling with malicious delight. 'You speak as though that is a wicked thing. A lowly, common thing. You speak as though you are above it all, Lady Stark.' He chuckled darkly, 'though I'm afraid Theon was always, sadly, a most disappointing Greyjoy. Much like his father.' 

'It was pathetic, really, when he strut proudly into our home, all dressed in his fine silks, and gold chains, thinking he could just claim himself a crown.' Asha cackled, her dark form sidling up beside her uncle.  _ No, she couldn't be here. Euron would take her. Of course he never died, of course they all never did. They came back for me. They came back... _

'He thought he could take away my birthright,' Asha went on, smirking, 'he could never be a Greyjoy. What sad, sickening dreams.' She laughed.

'Take his head, Robb,' Sansa urged quietly, as she stared blankly out the porthole. 'Please. He's only left pain, and destruction in his wake. He watched as...' she bit her lip, 'after everything he had done, he couldn't even save me. He only stood, and watched, as Ramsay...' she choked on her words, 'as Ramsay...as he hurt me...' A single tear slid down her cheek, glistening. 

_ She is right,  _ Theon could only think.  _ Of course she is right. I failed her. It is the only thing I am good for.  _

'He's not even a man!' Jon chuckled, appearing by Sansa's side. She drew comfort from him, as she turned into his embrace. 'Look at him! He gave me a laugh, he certainly did.' 

Theon felt a sudden, odd breeze, a coldness seeping into his ravaged skin. Theon looked down, and quickly scrambled to lower his hands. To cover  _ it.  _ His clothes had disappeared, his scars raw, and exposed to Robb's widened eyes; Catelyn's scrutiny, to Euron's preying grin, and Asha's disgusted sneer. To Jon's rippling laughter, and Sansa's helpless tears, a river flowing from her cheeks, flooding the cabin, mingling with Catelyn's blood. The swirling liquid rose around Theon, climbing to his waist, freezing his ravaged flesh. Theon quickly stumbled to his mangled feet, wet, and dripping. He had to get away,  _ get away! _

'Quite right,' Tyrion said quietly, sitting at a small desk, a glass of wine perched precariously in his slackened fist, 'my Queen, we cannot have a Turncloak in our midst. Let the Stark boy do away with him.' He took a lengthy sip. Daenerys stood beside him, and sighed.

'I suppose you're right,' she said, 'he'd only get himself captured, trying to find us. We're already lost.' Tyrion nodded in agreement. 'I'll drink to that,' he announced, emptying his glass into Sansa's rising river of tears.

'Robb, I'm sorry!' Theon sobbed. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say. Murdered at a wedding, butchered by the Freys.  _ Where was I? I should have died with him. _

A sound of singing steel, Robb unsheathed his sword, his scabbard falling from his fingers, lost in the waves. Hands pushed at Theon's shoulders, shoving him to his knees, the water churning around his chest. Theon looked up, as Ser Rodrik held him down, his neck dripping blood into his eyes. Theon hastily wiped them from his face, his hands shaking. 

Robb's sword wavered in front of Theon's eyes, the light catching the blade Theon knew only too well. 

_ Ice. _

Two boys stared at him silently from the shadows, their skin blackening, falling away, their eyes bright, piercing stars. 

Robb didn't move. Theon blinked in confusion. He craned his neck upwards. Feathers poked from his leather jerkin, stitches encircled his neck. The pommel of a dagger sprouted from his chest, blood oozing from the wound. 

_ Why wasn't he doing it? _

Robb only looked past him, into the stretching darkness beyond. Theon turned to follow his gaze. The cabin walls seemed to have all fallen away.

' _ There you are, Reek. I was beginning to worry.' _

The voice was a cold, twisting knife in Theon's side, squirming in the tender flesh of his heart. 

_ Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak. _

_ ' _ I'm sorry, Lord Stark, he won't get away from me again. Was he disturbing you? Of course he was _.'  _ Ramsay stood calmly in the water, the shadows peeling away from his skin, laughter flicking from his tongue. 

_ Reek, Reek, it rhymes with freak. _

'Are you...certain you want to do that?' Ramsay pointed at Robb's shimmering blade. Robb blinked. 

'What?'

Ramsay smiled, slowly advancing.

'Who's this, then? Robb, carry on,' Catelyn urged with marked impatience. Ramsay shook his head, frowning.

'Oh, I wouldn't imagine on intruding,' he said with mock sympathy, 'only...I believe he was mine.' 

_ Reek, Reek, it rhymes with leak. _

Theon turned to Robb, nearly grovelling at his feet.  _No, no, no..._

'Kill me!' He screamed, 'please, Robb, you have to do it!'  _No, I can't go back._

'Reek, that is no way to speak to your King,' Ramsay said disapprovingly, 'your begging is becoming quite tiresome. Your Grace, if I could take this traitor off your hands...'  _No, he can't be bored. I mustn't bore him. Master hurts Reek when he's bored. When he's angry._

_Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek._

'Of course, Lord Bolton,' Robb said apologetically, 'he doesn't deserve my mercy.' Ice landed with a _thunk!_ in the water , a mere four inches from Theon's nose. 

' _Reek, I'm putting you back where you belong,'_ Ramsay whispered, his breath tickling his ear. Theon nearly heaved into the water. ' _You're mine. How could you leave me all alone?'_

' __I...' Theon whimpered, 'I...'

Ramsay buried a fist in his hair, tugging, pulling him away, into the darkness. They only stared, only watched. Robb never blinked an eye. 

'Please, kill me!' Theon screamed, writhing in his grasp, Ramsay's knife slashing at his skin, peeling, carving... _No, not another finger, not another toe, please, master, please, I'm sorry, I'm Reek, I know my name, I know my name..._ He was shoved beneath the waves, salt filling his lungs, crushing him... _Cut, cut, cut..._ _I'm sorry...Please, I'm Reek, I'll always be..._

_Reek, Reek, it rhymes with..._

_It rhymes with..._

_It rhymes..._

_It..._

' _Theon, wake up, lad, Theon...'_

_~_

Theon vaguely heard someone calling him, someone shaking him, firm hands gripping his shoulders. _Ramsay's hands._ Theon fought for breath, forcing his eyes open.  _Why was it so dark?_

Someone was screaming, Theon thought dimly, gods, why was it so  _loud?_

'Theon, come on, now, it's alright...'

Theon's eyes flew open. Someone stood over him, their features blurred. Theon blinked heavily, his heart thrumming rapidly... _No...Ramsay, he came back for me..._

The screaming stopped. Theon was vaguely aware of a fierce, raw burning in his throat. His face was wet, _why was it wet?_

Panicked, Theon clawed at his own chest as he fought for breath. He wondered if he was drowning.  _Would that be so terrible?_

'Theon, that's it, calm down, now.'

The figure held him gently, almost caressing him. The voice was much too gentle, too warm...Theon went limp, the energy seeped and leeched from his body. This couldn't be _him_. Ramsay was dead, he was gone.

Theon felt salt on his tongue, filling his mouth. Shakily, Theon raised a hand to his eyes, swiping at the tears clouding his vision, running down his chin, coating his lips...

Slowly, ever so slowly, Davos Seaworth's frowning, concerned features sharpened. Theon felt his stomach sink in dread.  _I had a dream. I had one of those...dreams. I probably woke the whole ship._

Theon cursed himself inwardly. 

'Lord Seaworth-' he said groggily, blinking rapidly. 

'Davos,' he said firmly, 'lad, are you alright?' 

Theon swallowed, suppressed the groan rising in his throat, and began to fight his way onto his elbows. Davos quickly scrambled to help him into a more dignified sitting position. Theon gasped, and leaned against the vacant, unused cot in his cabin.

'You gave us quite a scare, you did,' Davos went on, staring grimly. Theon shivered slightly under his gaze, wishing to simply sink into the floor.

'I'm...I apologize for causing a disturbance,' Theon mumbled, Robb's pale, unblinking eyes still fresh in his mind. Theon quickly, unthinkingly brought his hands to his face, to count. Only one was missing this time...

'Nonsense, I wasn't sleeping well anyway, I doubt anyone was. You look terribly shaken,' he turned to,  _oh gods, there's more of them,_ a wavering Dornish soldier, 'get him some water.' 

Theon sighed miserably. Of course. Now everyone had been deprived of a good night's sleep because of him. Everything was always his fault. He wished they would all look away, all leave him be, to be tortured by his memories. Some soldiers smirked, or laughed quietly, others staring at him with withering glares. 

'I'm sorry,' Theon whispered, drawing into himself. Davos took one look at Theon's shivering form, and instantly waved the other lingering soldiers away. They traipsed reluctantly from the room, many muttering darkly.

'Cockless coward...'

'Afraid of his own shadow...'

'Turncloak woke me, woke the whole bloody ship...'

Davos glared at their receding backs, and Theon frowned, confused. Why should he be angry with them? He soon returned his attention to Theon.

'Now, do you mind telling me what the problem is?' he said kindly. 

'I'm sorry,' Theon hastily repeated, lowering his gaze. Davos furrowed his brow.

'Don't be sorry, lad, you look like you've seen a ghost,' he said. 

_Blue eyes._   


'Er, no, I'm fine, thank you,' Theon said quickly, shying away from him, 'just had a bit of a...bit of a horrid dream, is all.'

'Theon,' Davos caught his gaze, 'you...you were screaming your name was...what was it?'

'Re-' Theon choked on the word. Davos looked on in sympathy. Theon averted his eyes. He had to get out, he had to leave. 

'I'm sorry, my lor- Davos,' he said, scrabbling uncertainly to his feet, his head swimming. His stomach was held in an iron fist. Theon half feared he would vomit in Davos' face. He staggered to the door, lurching away from the soldier who stood, a glass of water in his hand. He stumbled down the cramped hall, up the steep stairs to the deck, until-

A rush of cold air hit his face, filling his lungs. He managed to make it to the railing, before he emptied the contents of his stomach over the side.  _So much for being akin to the sea. You're not an Ironborn, or a Greyjoy. You're nothing,_ a treacherous voice in the back of his mind cackled. Theon groaned, and suffered another wave of sickness, heaving and spitting, until only bitter acid clung to his tongue, burning his throat. He coughed, and leaned weakly over the rail, the wind ruffling his hair.

Dawn had not yet managed to break the surface, the sky still black, and littered with twinkling, mocking stars.  _Eyes. Watching me. So many eyes._

Theon spat into the churning waves, and moaned. 

'Here you are, then,' Davos sidled up behind him, causing Theon to flinch. Davos gently proffered a skin of wine. After a brief moment of hesitation, Theon accepted the drink, pressing the skin to his parched lips. It filled his throat, stinging slightly, the alcohol slightly numbing. Theon swallowed, and handed it back.

'Thank you,' he murmured, not daring to look at him. It wasn't until Davos' own hand brushed his, that Theon realized neither one of them were wearing gloves. Theon stared at the fingertips lacking in his right hand, the stumps smooth. Horrifying. Theon was nearly sick all over again.

'I'm...sorry,' he said haltingly, 'for your hand.' Davos glanced down in surprise.

'Oh, don't be sorry, lad,' he said lightly, 'I was a smuggler. Seems a light, just price for a lifetime of crime.' Theon frowned.

'Didn't it...hurt?' 

_Let's play a game._   


'Like the dickens,' Davos replied easily, 'but Stannis Baratheon was right to do it, and handy with the cleaver. He made me a Knight afterward. The Onion Knight, I was called.' 

'Onion Knight,' Theon muttered to himself. It was better than Turncloak, better than Reek. But Theon knew he deserved both names, he deserved all the names. Every last one.

'Course, the next time I betrayed him after that, well, I didn't really, but he thought I did, after a good time in the cells, he named me a Lord, and the Hand of the King. The other fancy lords with their holdfasts and castles were not terribly pleased, I can assure you.' Davos chuckled lightly. Theon blinked.

_If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention._   


'You are a Lord, then,' Theon said blankly. Davos only laughed.

'Only to Stannis.'

'But...you're Hand of the King to Jon, aren't you?' Theon said timidly. He then realized his mistake. 'The King in the North,' he added hastily.

'No need for all that, his name is Jon,' Davos said, waving him away, 'and yes, that I am.' He sighed, and stole a small glance at Theon's own maimed hands. Theon instinctively hid them from view.

'I imagine your story is a less favourable one,' Davos said softly. 

_You forgot to ask if I'm a liar._

'Nothing to bore you with,' Theon said hastily. Davos gave a slight frown. 

'Nonsense, no one's trouble could bore me,' he said swiftly. 

'Do you...do you miss them?' He said slowly, nervously, 'the...parts?' Davos softened, and patted him lightly on the arm.

'Yes,' he said, 'I imagine you do as well. It's not right, a young lad like yerself. I expect...the Bastard of Bolton did a lot more-'

' _Don't call him that!'_ Theon hissed, then bit his tongue, shocked at his himself. 'I'm-I'm sorry, please, forgive me,' he stammered, his hands trembling, curled into his chest. 

'I think...Theon,' Davos said slowly, softly, 'I'm sorry what this man did to you. I could not imagine...You were yelling all sorts in your dreams, I barely understood half of it, but what I did understand...' Davos raised his eyes sharply, penetrating Theon with a deep, decisive stare, 'never ask anyone to take your life. Never. I heard you, pleadin' for someone to take it away. Never...' Davos pursed his lips, and lay a heavy hand on Theon's shoulder, 'you are of importance, Theon Greyjoy. Your are useful. Do not ever wish for death again. You do not deserve it, and you did not deserve what this Ramsay did to yeh, right?'

Theon was silent.

'Right,' Davos nodded, slapped him lightly on the back, and, as the first breath of morning broke over the horizon, he said, 'now, I must ready the longboat. We, my friend, are going to Dragonstone.'

~

Arya sighed in annoyance. She detested politics.

'Just put this piece,' she said exasperatedly, clutching the badly carved direwolf in her left fist, 'over here, another one-over here.' She placed the lumps of wood in Casterly Rock, one in Riverrun, 'And the rest of you,' she shoved the eagle of House Arryn down to King's Landing, 'will help them get back their foreign Queen, or whatever it was they were planning on doing. My uncle would like his wife, child, and castle back. We have the men, provisions, and power. The Lannisters, and the Tarlys, as really Cersei's only remaining bannermen, are, as you say, answering Cersei's call, down in Dragonstone. They will cross paths with us in their fight to keep the Crownlands, the Reach, and the Riverlands. Once Cersei is defeated down South, everyone will be able to, once they are free of her ridiculous reign of tyranny, march up North, and end the War of the Dead, or whatever it was you were all planning on calling it.'

She stared at the gathering Commanders and strategists, her brow arched. Of course, there would be complications, she wasn't simple. But Edmure...

Her Uncle Edmure had told her of his wife and child, how Jaime Lannister had taunted him with his newborn's life if he did not aid in the fall of Riverrun, after the garrison surrounded them, and took them in for questioning. Their party had been marked as "suspicious", as, news of the Frey 'massacre', as they were calling it, had spread through the lands quickly, boasting of a mysterious girl with her description. Arya deemed that as laughably thin evidence and investigation, and knew they wouldn't really hold her for trial, but rather congratulate her, if it was made specifically clear that she wasn't an entirely 'crazed' and uncontrollable force of destruction and murder. 

Arya had rather seen the meeting as an opportunity, after debating to reveal her true identity, or not. Given as it was a Northern garrison riding South, and Brienne of Tarth recognized her immediately, Arya knew it could all prove to be useful. Why not? Without intending to, Arya had become frightfully attached to her uncle, after having been alone and separated from her family for so long.

They had informed her of the state of Westeros, much to her continuous disbelief. Brienne of Tarth had been graciously liberal, in that way. 

Rickon and Bran sat in Winterfell, Rickon as the "temporary" Lord of Winterfell, in Jon's absence, Jon, The King in the North...She smiled faintly. How she longed...

Jon had left with Sansa down South, to King's Landing, to free some Dragon Queen, and battle against Cersei Lannister, for dragon fire in return, to battle against a mysterious army of fictitious dead people in the North, rapidly gathering by the Wall. Arya suppressed the urge to sigh once more. 

Dragons, White Walkers, Kings, Queens, grumpkins, and snarks...

Arya briefly wondered if she should have paid more attention to Old Nan's tales. She herself was a Faceless Assassin. This was a funny, old world.

Nothing was impossible.

'With respect, Lady Stark,' Brienne of Tarth said slowly, frowning at her scattered pieces across the map, 'we have larger concerns than freeing your uncle's castle, I'm sorry, but we do. We cannot waste good men, and stall our garrisons, in this fight. We have been summoned down South, and South we must go, all the way to King's Landing. Against the White Walkers, we need to preserve as many men as possible-'

'But if we don't secure these lands, and Cersei wins against Jon, the Dragon Queen, and the other lords sitting in King's Landing, there will be nothing left. They will hold everything, and there won't be enough men to ride North anyway, after its all done. You must have as many men everywhere, securing holdfasts, to take away her power, her hold on to the land, and have a large shot of weakening her approaching forces before they can even reach her,' Arya countered. It seemed perfectly reasonable, in her mind.

'Lady Stark, how often have you waged war, or drawn up battle plans?' Petyr Baelish spoke up from a shadow of the tent, his voice low, a soft murmur. Arya glared incredulously at him. 

'I've watched my father, and my brother fight, and win. They are both dead. I am not,' she replied cooly. 

'Surviving in the shadows is not the same as-' he countered.

'I don't like you, Baelish,' another man spoke, red hair as fiery, and ill tempered as the sun, 'I like her. So far, she's the only one of you Southern Lords who has made any sense. She speaks outright. No games.' He smiled, his mouth widening into a garish grin. He stood close to Brienne, who, Arya couldn't help notice, slowly shifted away from him. 

After many more hours of battling phrases, verbal backhands, and forced compromises, Petyr Baelish, who was, she noticed, broadly disliked by everyone present, especially Lord Royce, slightly defeated. Brienne conceded to send a raven, informing the King in the North of their new plan.

Edmure sat through the whole painful process, slipping in and out of consciousness. The first thing he had been given was a much appreciated bath. The second was a meal, which still lay, half eaten on a small table by his chair. She felt a stab of pity at his weary state. She silently approached him. He nearly leapt out of his chair at her sudden appearance.

'Arya,' he said quietly, glancing at her blearily, 'I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't...I couldn't...' he stared at his hands in confusion, 'I'm afraid I-'

'It's alright, Uncle,' Arya interjected, not unkind, 'you're tired. It happens. I have good news.'

He stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. She understood too well. False hope was worse than a hard truth, in some ways.

'We're going to find your family. We're going to take you home.'

He stared.

~

Tyrion gazed blankly at the wall. It wasn't a particularly fascinating wall. Only stone, mortar, caked in dirt and grime. Yet it was there, and he could do nothing to make it go away, to make it crumble in his hands. 

He was helpless, a defeated Hand, no help to his Queen, Westeros, or himself. Once again, he was only a prisoner. Once again, Cersei his gaoler. 

No one would come for him, he knew, as he slowly rotted away in the dark depths of Dragonstone, the shadow of iron bars flickering over him in the light of the torches. 

He had lost. 

It was an odd feeling, one he hadn't felt in a while. One he didn't truly imagine he would again, as he sailed towards Westeros, dragons screeching overhead. 

' _Tyrion Lannister.'_

Tyrion snapped his head upward at the hiss in the darkness, eyes searching, straining. 

A robed figure passed by his cell, bending slightly, his face obscured from view, shrouded in cloth.

' _At the hour of the wolf,'_ he only whispered harshly, before fading once more into the shadows, hurrying from the passage.

Tyrion merely blinked. 

Ah.

~

Arya shivered in the cold, her breath leaving her lungs in sharp, crystallizing fog, twirling lazily in the air. It was getting colder, she noticed. The occasional drifting snowflake spiralled from the heavens, silent, and soft, melting in her hair, tickling her nose. 

She strode alone in the woods, the shadows never frightening her. They were where she walked. Where she lived.

She shrugged into her cloak. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts, to be alone. The tent was far to crowded, and hot with other breathing bodies. 

She longed to see them all again. She longed to run to King's Landing, have Jon sweep her into his arms, meet Sansa again, she supposed. Or, run to Winterfell, gather Bran, and Rickon into the tightest of embraces, walk the halls of her home...

If only...

A twig snapped. Arya turned slowly, listening carefully, resting a hand on Needle's pommel. She stood still, hardly daring to breathe.

Eyes. 

Piercing eyes of amber, bronze, and pale, shimmering grey approached from the surrounding shrubbery, cornering her on all sides. Their paws clipped carefully beneath the rippling fur of their slim, looming bodies, crushing the undergrowth. They stared at her, black noses twitching curiously, tongues lapping hungrily. Arya swallowed.

A shadow passed over her, and she turned slowly, Needle unsheathed, and raised.

She smiled.

~

Arya frowned apologetically, as Uncle Edmure scrambled away from her, eyes wide. She stood at the flap of his tent, her new companion licking its lips, slathering, and looming imposingly behind her. Edmure mouthed silently at her, blinking heavily. Slowly, he reached half-heartedly for a dagger by his side. She assumed he knew as well as her it was a fairly useless tool against so large a creature.

'Arya...what...?' He said, staring. 

'This is Nymeria,' she said, gesturing to the direwolf behind her. 'She was mine once. Now, she is no one's,' she stated simply. Edmure swallowed.

'Oh.'

Nymeria merely grunted, unimpressed, and shuffled off, into the woods.

Arya knew she would return.

She grinned softly, a gentle pull in her lips, and silently took a seat cross-legged in her Uncle's tent. 

'Are you feeling better, Uncle?' she asked pleasantly. She had been frightened, she knew, her heart pattering in her chest, as she looked down Nymeria's snout. How much larger she had grown, and wild. Like her. Nymeria, after a year's pause, slowly neared her nose, and Arya timidly rose her hand in response, wondering vaguely if the direwolf would tear it from her wrist. 

The day came swirling back to her, fierce, and strong. Joffrey taunting, laughing cruelly, smiling, as he dug his sword into Mycah's cheek, drawing blood. 

How satisfying it had been, to tear the stupid blade from his worthless fingers, tossing it into the river. Joffrey's cry of alarm, as Nymeria set her teeth into his flesh.

She had run in the darkness of the woods, terrified. She hated throwing that rock, looking on, as Nymeria whined, her ears flattened as she was driven away.

Mycah...

Fully grown, Nymeria looked as though debating on whether it was in her best interest to devour Arya in that lingering moment. Arya never closed her eyes. 

Slowly, but surely, Nymeria leaned forward, her nose pressing into the gloved palm of her hand.

She was home.

'Niece, are you alright?' Edmure said softly, seemingly recovering after the previous shock. She nodded.

'Of course,' she replied easily, 'have no fear, Uncle, you'll see your son and wife in due course.' 

'Arya.' Edmure haltingly pushed himself forward, timidly unfurling a hand. He held her lightly by the shoulder. She didn't move. 'Please. You wear the weathered beaten marks of age, on so young a face. I am your Uncle.' He gently squeezed. She found it comforting, in a way. No one could touch her, no one had in too long. 

'Talk to me,' he murmured.

She levelled her gaze, staring into his soft, Tully blue eyes. Robb's eyes. Mother's eyes. 

She looked at him, and nodded.

~

Theon, arms shaking slightly, the muscles worn, and tired from rowing, stared into the darkness, the glittering glass towering before him, stretching into the roof of the cave. 

They had rowed all day, trading the labour between himself, Davos, and a few choice soldiers. Davos, against Theon's protests, never allowed him to row for long, instantly recognizing how much more quickly, and easily he appeared to tire. They had been forced to keep their sails far from the island, far from any wandering, sharp eye. 

They reached the shaded, sombre shores of Dragonstone, the steep, stone walls stretching above them atop a steep hill, an impenetrable fortress. They had found the dragonglass, as the legends of the scrolls had depicted, inside the mouth of a hidden cave nestled in the limestone.  

'Go, lad,' Davos urged, shoving a package into his hands. A pile of Lannister clothes. Theon swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. He flicked his eyes upward, to the man's gentle frown, his eyes worn, and weary. 'Best of luck,' he added, patting Theon lightly on the arm. 'We'll gather as much of this as we can. We'll have to come back for more one day, after all this is done.'

Theon nodded numbly walking slowly from the mouth of the cave. Darkness, into darkness.

'Theon, what the phrase your people always seem to use?' Davos called after him, his voice nearly lost in the lapping of the waves. Theon blinked.

'What is...' he swallowed dryly, 'what is dead may never die, but...' he sighed, 'rises again, harder, and stronger.'

Davos only smiled.

'Alright, then,' he said, cocking his head forward. He faded into the shadows of the cave.

Theon craned his neck upward, the towers spiralling to the sky, poking the stars.

He walked into the night.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed, even though it is by now totally unrelated to the show's storyline, but...oh well. Sorry if the dream sequence was too weird, and if the plot is not to your liking...  
> Also, I need to say this.
> 
> *SPOILER ALERT FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FINALE YET (YOU ARE VERY STRANGE PEOPLE INDEED, OR I PITY YOU GREATLY)*
> 
> Theon SMILED!   
> Yes, that made my day. Also, a Theon Greyjoy kick ass speech finally paid off. That was beautiful.  
> Too bad he had to take a beating for that to happen...
> 
> Anyway, thanks again, I want to thank all of you who have left lovely Kudos and Comments, I cannot tell you how much I value your support, and, this story is not over.
> 
> Not by a long shot.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please tell me how I did, I know I have shitty writing skills, and I wasn't sure if I captured all the characters correctly, I've never written Tyrion before, and I've never done anything from the show.


End file.
